5. Swearwords and Surnames
A confrontation was inevitable. The generation gap, conflicting philosophies and perhaps even social status had always put master and apprentice at odds. While earlier in his career, Sylvester was able to show his versatility, he'd been forced to give up his diverse talents for his more conventional shtick. Furrball, on the other hand, had it all going for him, despite the humblest of beginnings and lack of credits and awards to his name. What pissed Sylvester off the most about his so called protégé was that Furrball couldn't care less about reaching his own potential. He'd sacrificed ambition for more…important things.
Furrball stepped forward to meet his aggressor, blocking Fifi's view of the Looney Tune.
"I quit," he spoke plainly, his eyes narrowing to mere slits.
Sylvester grimaced for a moment, his paw trembling uncontrollably. The determination in the blue cat's voice was palpable; you could feel it across the street.
"Because you need to home s-s-school your runt?"
"He isn't a runt."
"S-s-stay on topic, s-s-squirt," Sylvester nearly accented his point with a backhand, but decided against it at the last second.
The two felines locked eyes once more, causing the lights to dim as the sparks jumped between the two. Fifi took a step back, as impressed as she was nervous. She'd seen this happen thousands of times in the studio, but wasn't aware it could be done in private without the cameras rolling or the FX generators running.
The sound of Fifi's movement brought Furrball back into reality, initiating a low growl from the street cat.
"Why'd you come?" he demanded, shoving a claw in the older cat's face.
"To s-s-stop you from making the worst miss-s-s-stake of your life," Sly responded unfazed.
"Family comes first for me." Furrball asserted.
"Then you're gonna fail just like your father," Sylvester snapped.
The blue cat's eye widened, registering the words, as did his fiancé's. Before Fifi could even try to stop him, Furrball slashed Sylvester across the muzzle, tearing into flesh for a moment before he found himself toppled over at the feet of his former mentor, grabbing his ribs. Sylvester had simply baited him, burying his knuckles into the cat's ribcage.
"Furrball!" Fifi started toward the fallen cat, causing him to hold up his paw. Had he been able to utter the words to stay back, Fifi would have ignored them regardless. Kneeling down next to her love, Fifi shot a dirty look at Sylvester, who turned away, neither proud nor ashamed at what he'd done.
Wiping the blood off of his own face, Sylvester continued, while he had the young couple's full attention.
"You can't do anything else for money unless you were thinkin' about turnin' to crime and we both know you ain't got the stomach for that," Sylvester reasoned. "You have to finish the show. At least the first season, anyway."
"Sparkz," Furrball managed to wheeze as he tried regulating his breath.
"Who, the runt? He needs a tutor, right? Who better than the best of the best?"
Fifi and Furrball looked at each other for a moment, puzzled. Their faces turned back to Sylvester, realizing what he'd meant at the same time to find the tuxedo cat proudly pointing to himself.
"You?" Fifi mused.
"You're crazy," Furrball observed.
"And you're slim on options," Sylvester retorted.
"We can't afford you…"
"I don't need any more damned money, stupid."
"You'll put crazy ideas in his head."
"No more than the crazy ideas YOU did. I'll toughen him up so he can control himself in public without goin' to jail after ten minutes."
Furrball looked at Fifi. It did seem awfully tempting, as crazy as it sounded. Fifi shrugged, nodding. What choice was there?
"If we agree, you've got to promise not to-"
"Promise not to what? I've been in this game so much longer than you, I could be your great grandfather! I only got one rule. Don't question my methods. It worked for the most part with you and it'll work with your runt. Got it?"
Furrball and Fifi gazed into one another's eyes; their telepathy actively weighing the pros and cons of the plan. Finally, they both smiled. Furrball, with the help of his love rose to his feet, extending a paw. Sylvester smiled and reached out for Furrball just in time to get sucker punched in the eye. Flying down on his ass, Sylvester took a moment to shake the cobwebs out.
"WHAT THE FU-"
Sylvester opened his eyes to find Furrball grinning impishly offering a paw. He accepted it reluctantly and rose to his feet. They both smirked, the reason for the blow unnecessary to verbally articulate.
"We've got to start today or he'll clam up for a few months on all accounts," Sylvester announced, striding past Furrball. "Where's the runt's room?"
"His name is Sparkz," Fifi chimed in, not completely on the wagon with this scheme.
"Can't it wait until Monday? He's been through a lot." Furrball tried.
"Rule number one," Sylvester uttered, finding the right room. He entered, locking the door behind him.
Smart move, you hidin' from me. Sylvester hadn't spoken Catonese in decades, giving his accent a rough, menacing tone.
Who you? Sparkz squeezed his body tighter together under the bed, instinctively.
Didn't you never learned to speak right? Sylvester stood at the foot of the bed, smirking at his private joke, watching the bed quiver slightly.
Scared? Yeah, ya better be.
This solicited the exact response Sylvester was hoping for, as part of Sparkz' tail peeked out from beneath the bed.
I not scared you… though the kitten's voice shook with uncertainty.
Sylvester smiled, making a grab for the tail. With a single good yank, he pulled Sparkz out from under the bed, who gripped the frame in an attempt to prevent exposure to the light. As the mattress and frame toppled over, Sylvester lost his grip for a split second, allowing Sparkz the opportunity to flip off the falling cushion toward his assailant, slashing out at the exact same spot his father had recently cut. Through instinct, witchcraft or raw talent, Sylvester was able to counter the attack, grabbing the kitten's paw and tossing him back a few yards to create some distance.
As soon as his feet touched the floor, Sparkz was back on the attack, swinging at blinding speed, but hitting nothing. The more futile the attacks were, the more obvious they seemed to Sparkz and the angrier and sloppier he became. Just as he was about to give up from total exhaustion, Sylvester upped the ante, taking an offensive stance. Sensing the danger, Sparkz closed his eyes and threw his stump at Sylvester's temple, missing by a hair as Sylvester tackled the smaller feline to the ground. To the kitten's credit, he still put up a struggle, though it was more of a required theatric than a legitimate attempt to free himself, as he'd exhausted all of his energy. Sylvester, having pinned the kitten to the ground protracted his claws and raised his paw. This brought Sparkz back to the reality of his younger days and he wiggled his left arm free, catching the cat's paw with his stump just before Sylvester could cut him on the eye. Retracting his claws, Sylvester stood over the kitten, not offering him a helping hand.
You fight like a moron. Still standing like you've got two paws. That's why you lost.
Sparkz winced at these words realizing the simplicity of the truth in them. It was maddening. He sat up, refusing to rise to his feet.
I'm a teach you how to fight like a southpaw first, then, Sylvester continued, offering his paw to Sparkz, who declined. No point in fillin' up a library that doesn't have any real security.
Sparkz eyed the cat as he slowly and cautiously rose to his feet. Who you are?
Sylvester grinned from ear to ear, his trademark air of confidence ever-present.
Your new teacher. Just call me Professor Sly.
Sparkz cocked his head, clearly not used to the pomp and circumstance Sylvester was used to putting into his introductions.
Papa call me "Sparkz" Will you, too?
In time, kitten. For now, until your stance is stronger, we'll have to settle with "Stumpz".
Sparkz's eyes flashed with rage for a moment, but he dared not attack the cat again. Not just yet, anyway.
…
It was late evening before Sylvester unlocked the door, emerging from Sparkz's room. Furrball had been waiting for hours for this and eagerly rushed past Sylvester, not bothering to see if the older cat wanted to debrief him. As the door closed behind him, Sylvester sighed to himself. He made his way out the door muttering something along the lines of 'never appreciated' when he found Fifi waiting for him on the front porch. He didn't bother looking at the purple skunk and descended the steps slowly.
"Merci beaucoup, Monsieur Sylvester," Fifi spoke, her accent noticeably absent.
Sylvester didn't turn to face the skunk.
"Bienvenue," he responded nonchalantly as he strode towards his car.
Fifi hopped down to the sidewalk and started to follow Sylvester, a bit unsure of herself. As they got closer to the car, Sylvester eventually turned, looking at Fifi.
"S-s-something I can do for you?"
Fifi looked at her feet, unsure of how to begin. After a few moments of awkward silence, she mustered up the courage to blurt it out. "You shouldn't have brought up his father," Fifi started, unable to really complete her thought aloud.
Sylvester turned away, unlocking his car door. His body language told Fifi that he didn't have to answer to her. As he opened the door he sighed.
"I was testin' the waters was all," Sylvester was as uncomfortable with talking about the situation as Fifi was. He started to get in the car when Fifi touched his shoulder.
"What do you mean, 'test the waters'?"
"Trust me, you don't want to know."
Fifi squeezed the cat's shoulder causing him to look into her eyes for a moment.
Sylvester shrugged Fifi's arm off and put the key in the ignition.
"You don't want to be like Pandora. You just don't." It was little more than a whisper.
"Tell me. Please."
Sylvester sighed, letting go of the key.
"You heard about his father tracking him down for that day when he was in school, right?"
Fifi nodded, barely remembering Furrball casually mention it a while back.
"The reason Benicio never tried to see him again was because he was shot to death in a gunfight a few minutes after he and Furrball went their separate ways."
Sylvester produced an old wrinkled up newspaper obituary. Placing it into Fifi's still paws, the cat drove off, leaving the shocked skunk staring off into space.
He'd always found it bit nerve-racking, passing the hall of producers on the 10th floor of the studio and this time was no exception for Furrball. Why in the world props had to be located so far away from the airbrushing and wardrobe studio was beyond the cat's comprehension. Lightening and quickening his step, Furrball tried his level best to pass the offices undetected. Just before breathing a sigh of relief, he heard a door open behind him. Failed.
"Oh Furrball," the familiar voice of his indifferent PD.
The feline stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder. The PD was uncharacteristically grinning, putting the cat on edge.
"A word, please." The PD beckoned him to enter his office, disappearing behind the door. For the briefest of moments Furrball thought about telling him he was too busy, but found himself closing the door behind him before he could even finish the thought. As the feline's eyes adjusted to the lighting in the room, Furrball noticed a gaggle of important-looking suits seated at the infamous oval table.
"This might take awhile, so why don't you have a seat?"
It was times like this when Furrball hated himself for making no effort to remember names outside of his inner circle. The cat complied, nodding at Suit # 1, who he recognized as his immediate boss. Though he really had lost his stutter, he still wasn't keen on 'showing off' for…well, people.
"Nasty little scare you gave us the other day, huh? Talk about quitting and the like." Suit #1 began in a mock-jolly tone. "Good thing Ol' Sylvester was able to set things straight."
Furrball assumed the pause was meant for him to respond with some sort of agreement. With an awkward smile and nod, he whispered 'yes' in a volume no human ear could detect.
"Right, then," as if the suits needed to know he was compliant! "I wanted to let you know that we found several networks that are VERY interested in our little show. I'll spare you the boring accounting details, but basically, we're in the final stages of negotiations of picking up season two."
Furrball's eyes actually lit up. Despite his apprehensions, lack of passion for Sylvester's quest and all it entailed, this was the news he'd been waiting for and needed to hear. Financial stability was a real probability now!
"Oh, you like that, do you?" The group grinned at the sudden look of elation on Furrball's face. He tried not to be embarrassed to show legit emotion in front of them, but mostly failed at this as his cheeks turned red.
"So basically, we're looking at shooting 26 episodes for next season which means you've got your work cut out for you, mister!"
Furrball watched as Suit #1 extended an arm in his direction. Leaning forward in his seat, the cat shook the man's hand not too briskly, for the sake of the deal and performed the same ritual with the others in his immediate vicinity.
"Congratulations, Furrball. You deserve it, I'm sure," Suit #1 continued, his tone changing slightly, suggesting a possible caveat. "This is Mr. Driscoll, an assistant writer on the show. He had an idea about next season that we really like. But he insisted on running it by you for some reason. Astynax?"
Furrball's eyes focused on another suit, near the end of the table. He was almost engulfed by a shadow, but Furrball could tell clearly that he was just as nervous about being there as he was. For what purpose? The cat's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Hi there, Mr. Furrball. It's a great honor to meet you in person. Err, feline. Or whatever." Yep. Definitely nervous. "So, I wanted to know before we start, are you familiar with 'Lone Wolf and Cub?'"
Furrball's blank expression didn't even perk for a microsecond.
"No, huh? Well it's old, so I kinda figured that. Um, it's basically about this assassin type wanderer, not so different from your character who travels the countryside with his son in a carriage."
At the mention of "son", Furrball's ears flattened.
"Wait a minute now, before you say 'no', think about it for a second," Driscoll tried, reading the apprehension and rage in the cat's eyes. As a TV writer, he must have been well-versed at reading eyes. "You probably figured we were going to ask if we could cast your son as your son on the show, right? That's true, but think of the benefits. You would be able to spend a lot more time together, and you'd be doing your kid a HUGE favor, getting his foot in the door of the film industry before he's even a teenager. I mean, how could you deny your son an opportunity that doesn't even come once in a lifetime for most?"
Furrball knew the supporting reasons before the man even rattled them off. He knew full-well what growing up under the spotlight could do to someone. But he also knew how incredibly difficult it was to live with absolutely nothing for so long.
"Let me talk to Sparkz first, okay?"
All eyes turned to the blue cat who had so indifferently broken his code of silence to the human race. Driscoll was as shocked as the others but had the presence of mind to try and seal the deal.
"Great, Furrball. You do that. Just remember that if we don't cast your real son, we'll have to cast another actor. You already know about bonds made by mutual suffering... I'll leave it at that."
Furrball nodded, finished with the conversation.
"Now that that's out of the way, there's going to be something of a cast party tonight celebrating your success. I don't think I need to let you know how important it is that you at least show your face," Suit #1 took over once again.
Furrball caught himself about to roll his eyes. Five minutes' notice in a billion dollar industry. Why did it always work that way?
The party had been a blur. As per usual, Furrball approached the event going into autopilot, keeping the mingling to a minimum without seeming like a snob or an outcast, thus, not ruining his mystique. The only real thing he remembered from the party was Fifi's expression. She was happy, with good reason to be, but her smile seemed plastered on her face, as if everything made her smile at the same level… He knew that expression. He'd coined that expression. It meant a front… something was wrong. He hadn't bothered to try and extract it from her during the party, but on the way back, he started obsessing over the forced look of jubilation.
"You worried about Sparkz?"
Fifi looked over at her fiancé, suspicious about the question.
"What?"
"The 2nd season. You don't want me to ask him?"
"That's not it." She'd slipped up before she could even put up the defenses. The cat immediately went in for the kill.
"Then what IS it? With the fake smile? What's bothering you?"
Fifi sighed, sitting on a park bench. So this was why he'd insisted on walking home.
"I don't…know," Fifi breathed.
"…how to start?" The feline offered. Fifi nodded, unsure of herself.
"In that case," Furrball pulled up his pants leg revealing a Band-Aid. Ripping it off as fast as he can, Furrball winced as some of his fur stuck to the bandage. He smiled at his love and sat down next to her. The skunk swallowed hard as her knees started to knock.
"Sylvester gave me this," she spoke as fast as she could before she could stop herself. Producing the old obituary, she placed it in Furrball's paws, closing them. Squeezing tightly so he wouldn't be able to see what it was. Furrball looked into Fifi's eyes, a gentle warmth transferring between the mammals, which relaxed Fifi's body just enough so that the cat could look at the clipping. He'd been studying for months in secret and could read much better now as well. Folding the paper into a tiny square when he finished, Furrball smiled at Fifi.
"I'll bet he wanted to keep it a secret from me, right?"
Fifi nodded slowly, staring down at her feet.
Furrball rose to his feet, unfolded the paper and studied it for a bit.
"Benicio Fuego-Torres," he spoke with a mix of reverence and disdain, pausing after each word. Smiling, he looked back at Fifi. "Hey, now we got a last name we can use at the wedding for me!" It wasn't fake joy. He was actually relieved about that. And yet…
FIfi looked up. She could see his body trembling.
"Hey, I figured something like that would've happened eventually. It's not like I even knew him or anything." The cat pulled out his wallet. Turning back to Fifi, he smiled again. "I'm just happy you didn't keep it from me like anyone else would have. That's why I love you so much."
Fifi stood up slowly. She knew that he did, but she'd never heard him utter the words before. It felt strangely wonderful to hear such words despite the circumstances.
Opening the wallet, Furrball produced three benjamins.
"Ya know, I always thought I'd see him again," his tone darkening a bit. "Which was why as soon as I started to make money, I kept $300 on the chance we'd meet."
Fifi wanted nothing more than to hold Furrball and squeeze him tightly, but for some reason, the skunk couldn't approach him just yet.
"$300," he continued, "The price of a meal at a sushi place. That's all he ever spent on me, ya know? … I wanted to give the money back, so I could say that I didn't owe him anything; that I got to here by myself alone, ya know?"
Fifi gulped as Furrball looked at her, his quaking getting worse.
"But now that I think about it, if I saw him again… I think I would've used the money to take him out to dinner, ya know? Just to spend a bit more time with…" The quivering just got too much and the cat dropped to the ground.
The feline was practically seizing, trying to keep the tears from coming up. As Fifi wrapped her arms around him, he could hold them back no longer and the flood gates opened as he held onto her for dear life.
End- Part 5
So, the Bachelor Party is coming soon, right?