(TIC: Again, I cannot apologize enough for how long these chapters keep taking. T.T This is why I always wait to finish stories before I actually post them.)
Chapter 5: Mall Rats
"Won't you take me to/Funkytowwwwwwwwwwn?/Won't you take me to/Fun-ky-TOWNNNNNNNNNN..."
The music reverberated tinnily from the speakers inside the bus, bouncing off the rusty walls and piercing its way shriekingly into passengers' internal organs. Not surprisingly, Pinky was bopping enthusiastically to it. Also not surprisingly, Brain clapped his hands over his ears and gritted his teeth. "Why must humans be so enamored of those blasted singing chipmunks??"
"But they got such cute voices, Brain!" Pinky gushed, dancing away the last strains of the music before suddenly (and a bit unwisely) grabbing his companion's shoulders and shaking vigorously. "Awwwww, I know you like 'em TOO! ZORT!"
Brain scowled, slapping Pinky's hands away. "Of course I do," he drawled irritably. "Just as much as I enjoy getting run over by a freight engine." The short man twisted around, trying to see past Pinky and through the grimy, bug-splattered window. "At least we're nearly at our stop."
Perfectly on cue, the music cut out, and instead a voice blared, "All out for the Ken Memorial Mall, watch your step please..." The bus began to slow down, emitting various puffing and popping noises that sounded suspiciously unsafe, but nobody seemed to notice.
"Why do they call it the Ken Memorial Mall, Brain?" inquired Pinky as the two struggled out of their gum-covered seats and into the aisle.
"Because this is where Barbie maxed out all his credit cards."
The vehicle never actually came to a full halt while Pinky and the Brain were still on it—instead, it inexplicably sped up the moment they got near the driver's seat, and they had to sprint through the doors before they scissored shut. Which, of course, resulted in both of them losing their balance and somersaulting into the middle of the street, where they had to lunge for the curb before they got run over by a truck.
Brain glowered fiercely at the departing vehicle, rising to his feet and irritably brushing flecks of tar off his sleeves. "Accursed public transportation..."
He turned to make a remark to Pinky, but, upon seeing that the tall human's shirt was in an even sorrier state than his own (and that Pinky had, conversely, done even less about it), the Brain began to annoyedly but diligently brush him down.
And that was when he came to a crucial revelation.
"Pinky, where are your pants?"
Pinky blinked, then jumped slightly before bending nearly double to stare at the conspicuously bare knees poking out from underneath his shirt. Finally both his gaze and the Brain's trailed back towards the street...and the eighteen-wheeler disappearing around a corner with a pair of gray dress slacks flapping off of its bumper.
"...Well," began Pinky at length, his confidence ebbing as high as it always did even considering the circumstances, "at least he'll have somethin' to talk about when he gets home!"
Though there were few people walking the streets at such an early hour, the presence of two silver-haired, not-quite-young-and-not-quite-old men wearing horrendously oversized clothing—and one of them now not even fully dressed—was still a definite attention-grabber, and the two were already attracting some interested onlookers. So Brain had to roughly grab Pinky by the elbow and haul him through the doors of the mall before anyone got too curious for their own good.
Once inside, it got harder and harder for the Brain to keep a hold on his companion, for the taller human was so excited by all of the sights and sounds of the Ken Memorial Mall that he kept trying to scamper off, ecstatic over such things as the security cameras and the toy departments' displays and even just a kiosk full of back-scratchers. Of course, he'd seen all of that and more on other trips to other malls during his life, but this was new and exciting. He was finally big enough to play with all these things without having to worry about them collapsing on top of him! He could actually reach shelves without having to climb all the way up with a little paperclip grappling hook!
Needless to say, this completely unbounded enthusiasm made the job of "staying low-profile" about as easy as if they'd been wearing propeller beanies in the midst of a crowd of Amish people. But somehow or other they fought through—well, Brain fought through; Pinky was dragged through—some sort of clothing store and into a changing stall, Brain locking the door behind them and panting considerably.
Pinky sat down on the bench, cocking his head to the side. "Well—Poit!—if you wanted some privacy, Brain, we coulda' just stayed at the hotel."
Brain ignored him, instead hefting a bundle of clothing he'd snatched off random racks during their journey across the store. "Here," he directed gruffly, tossing the pile onto the bench beside Pinky and, turning to face the wall, starting to undo the buttons on his shirt. "Try to find something that fits. Once you have, remove all the price tags, as well as anything that looks at all like a mall security device." His eyes also wandered to the...other package he'd picked up, and though the tips of his ears started to turn a slight pink, he went on as nonchalantly as possible. "And don't forget the underwear."
Pinky stopped in the middle of pulling on a bright red t-shirt to stare carefully at the back of Brain's head. "Why?"
This time the heat started creeping across the rest of the Brain's face, and his reply was altogether too rushed. "Because although we did not require them in our rodential form, now that we're hu...that we're in these bodies, actually wearing undergarments may prove more comfortable than doing as we ha—"
"No, not that." As unusual as it was, Pinky's voice was hard and serious, and his eyes were boring accusing holes into the back of Brain's neck. "Why are we removin' the tags an' stuff from the clothes? ...We are going to pay for them, aren't we?"
For a moment, Brain didn't answer.
"We HAD to take those scientists' clothes 'cus we didn't have nothin', an' we needed to get out," Pinky pressed. "But now we got money, Brain, from those wallets."
Suddenly Brain straightened, and his hands started working again at his buttons so quickly that one almost forgot that they'd been still just a moment before. "Of course we're paying for them, Pinky," he replied smoothly, but didn't turn around. "It's just that we need more money first. And nobody would give us more money if we were dressed like we are now."
Still Pinky hesitated...but, reluctantly, he slid the shirt the rest of the way over his head. "...We're going to pay later," he clarified slowly, but there was more than a hint of command in his voice.
"Yes, Pinky. We'll pay later."
"Promise?"
"...I promise."
Even after his unexpected assertation of moral character, Pinky ended up taking much longer choosing a wardrobe than the Brain had, feeling obliged to try on every article of clothing he could find and then trying them all on again just to be sure. That was what he was in the process of doing when Brain eased the stall door open, the bundle of clothing they'd taken from the scientists hidden away in the crook of his arm. He himself was dressed in a brown suit coat and slacks, with a plain white collared shirt underneath. It was simple. It was distinguished. It was the only thing small enough to fit him.
Very quietly, Brain slid into the changing area, shutting the stall door behind him. He glanced at the bundle in his arm, his chest squeezing guiltily. He could have just left them in their changing stall, but Pinky's sermon had left him feeling oddly repentant...
With a start, he shook his head furiously, trying to clear those thoughts from his mind. No! It has NOTHING to do with Pinky! It's just... He faltered. ...more economical to put them on the shelves. It's NOTHING to do with "paying them back" by giving them clothes in exchange for those we took! NOTHING!
That issue cleared up, he started to stride purposefully towards the nearest rack—but a sudden "PING!" from the mall loudspeakers made him jump with surprise, and he halted in his tracks. However, there was a few seconds' bout of silence after this "PING!", so Brain just shook his head grumblingly and proceeded on his way.
But when the announcement actually came on, he froze again, the bundle swaying limply in his grasp.
"ATTENTION MALL SHOPPERS, SECURITY GUARDS AND OTHER MALL PERSONNEL: BE ON THE LOOKOUT FOR A PAIR OF DANGEROUS CRIMINALS REPORTED ESCAPING FROM ACME LABS LAST NIGHT AFTER INCAPACITATING AND ROBBING TWO SCIENTISTS. THEY ARE PRESUMED TO BE ARMED AND DANGEROUS, AS WELL AS POSSIBLY INSANE. NO PRECISE DESCRIPTIONS ARE AVAILABLE AS OF YET, BUT THEY ARE PRESUMED TO BE WEARING XXL-SIZED COLLARED, CHECKERED SHIRTS, ONE BLUE AND ONE..."
Brain didn't even have to listen after that—he knew without looking that those were the same clothes he was currently clutching under his arm. He started to back slowly towards the entrance to the changing area. They couldn't just leave the clothes lying around. It would be irrefutable evidence that he and Pinky had been there, which could allow the police to track them down and capture them.
And it would be very hard to change themselves back in their three-month time limit if they were locked up in prison for thirty years.
There was a trash can next to him. Slipping his hand underneath the lid, he popped it open, glancing furtively around for anyone who might be watching. There was no one. He lifted his bundle.
"Hiya, Brain! Narf!"
Faster than lightning, Brain shoved the pile of clothes into the can and shut the lid, whirling around to face Pinky. He was wearing the red T-shirt he'd tried on first, with a pair of long blue jeans and a baseball cap. "What'cha doin'?"
"Nothing, Pinky," Brain replied quickly, removing his hands from behind his back as if to prove he wasn't hiding anything. Pinky certainly seemed cheerful enough that he could have forgotten about his previous outburst, but still...
"Okay!" the tall human chirruped, bouncing lightly up beside his companion. Brain fought down the urge to try to hide the trash can from sight. "What're we gonna do now?"
"N-nothing!" The words were out again before the Brain could do anything about them, so, in an effort to divert attention from his mistake, he began to lead Pinky towards the department exit—and away from the trash can. "I—I mean, um...an electronics store! Y-yes, of course, we have to...get to an electronics store...to find the necessary components..."
He trailed off, tensing slightly as they neared the security gates—but no alarms went off, and they passed out of the department undetected. Pinky just chattered on excitedly, still in awe of his surroundings and not particularly noticing that his companion's heart was pulsing guiltily in the bottom of that aluminum wastebin.
...I'm sorry, Pinky.
"TROZ! Look, Brain—puppies!"
Trying to hold him back was useless—Pinky was a hurricane of pure unbridled energy, and within seconds he was smushed against the pet store window, cooing and making faces at the little Labrador puppies prancing about in the foremost display. Brain groaned, slapping a hand to his forehead...and for an instant it seemed almost like the past, with him heading towards his goal of world domination, and Pinky getting distracted by something trivial at the pivotal moment—
A second more in his fantasy and he would have cried out "Stop! Pinky, what are you doing?", but that second was long enough that he felt starkly the smooth pink skin under his hand, brushed only by gossamer strands of hair. It was not the thickly white fur that should have been there. Nothing that should have been there...
Except for that faithfully familiar voice calling out as it had so many times in the blessed past.
"Brain! Brain! C'mon, lookit this!"
He was inside the store now, jumping up and down while pointing excitedly at something in another display. Brain sighed and dragged his feet, but nonetheless he was soon at his companion's side. "What is it, Pinky?"
"Aw, Brain, loooooooooooook!!" He grabbed the shorter man by the shoulders and nearly forced his head into the roof of the cage, his voice squealing up an octave in his excitement. "I'in't they CUTE??"
It was a cage full of small, pure white mice, each one squeaking frantically and tumbling over one another in their play. They were domestic creatures, bred by science but not as affected by it as the two figures leaning over them had been, and subsequently had no idea of any world beyond their little environment. If one among their ranks was taken away, it was accepted as a fact of life and nothing to be concerned over. Food was all that mattered to them; food and water and play. There was no need for anything more.
They were simple creatures, Brain reflected as he observed them, and their behavior was somewhat ridiculous by his standards...but, in an odd way, it was also charming.
"Naaaaaaaaaaaaaaarf..." Pinky gushed in an awed whisper, eyes still riveted on the sleek figures. "Were we ever as li'l as all that? How'd we ever do anything?"
Brain bristled indignantly. "We managed...we just had to be more creative, that's all." He flexed his fingers, feeling the muscles move more powerfully than they had in his previous form. "We didn't have to resort to the brute force that these humans take for granted."
Pinky wasn't listening, instead leaning even further into the side of the cage until his nose touched the cold metal. "Y'see that one, Brain?" His voice was low and secretive. "That one's my favorite."
Shaking his head, knowing that they weren't going to be leaving that shop anytime soon, Brain began wearily, "Which one, P—"
"Hey, you!"
They both jumped at the sharp, gruff voice, and whirled around to see a large balding man in a blue vest approaching them rather quickly. "Scat, youse!" he barked, viciously shooing them away from the cage. "Yer scarin' the animals!"
"But—" Pinky whimpered, but was cut off as Brain grabbed his wrist and started pulling him towards the exit.
"Come, Pinky. Not only are we not wanted, we also have other matters to attend to."
"But—but—but—" The boy's heels were digging into the tiled floor, and his glance was switching frantically between the cage and his companion. "Brain—Brain—"
"We'll be back."
...And then Pinky allowed himself to be dragged out of the store, his arm already starting to numb and his feet scuffing the floor and his face split into a huge, toothy grin. He was dragged all the way into the crowded walkway, up an escalator, and halfway across the massive length of the Ken Memorial Mall, and never once did the lanky human's expression waver, never once did he utter a complaint or protest—the only thing he tried to do was wrap the Brain in a bone-crunching hug, and Brain had sidestepped that quite deftly.
"We'll be back."
The words weren't sour or conciliatory, as all too often they ended up. It was a simple statement of fact.
As funny as it was, Brain the mouse's mouse had gained an ounce of human kindness.
"...So you're lookin' for the 'Soundy' X-55-point-297-model VCR, circa 1995, and the 'Star-Crash' 85-6-3200-model satellite, silver-plated-chrome edition?" The beefy, ponytailed man eyed them suspiciously from behind his sunglasses, pencil hovering above his notepad.
"Yes," Brain replied professionally, trying his hardest to ignore the sounds of Pinky frolicking about with a toy spaceship just behind him. "Spare absolutely no expenses—I must have them within the next three months."
The electronics salesman tapped his pad a few times, then reached around his cash register to snatch up an enormous paperback, leafing rapidly through its pages as if he had the entire contents memorized. Which he probably did, Brain reflected, but that was what made him such a powerful resource in finding that necessary equipment.
"Here we go." The thick man turned to Brain, holding the book out in front of him and tapping a picture of a small, black VCR, virtually indistinguishable from the other dozen pictures on the same page. "That the VCR yer lookin' fer?"
It had certainly looked much different with all of its inner workings rearranged, and with those dents it had gained during its rooftop escapades, but that was definitely the same model. "Yes, that's it."
Another fifty pages rifled through, and an image came up of a compact satellite dish on a thinly gleaming tower. "An' this?"
Pinky was still running around making "whoosh" noises, and this latest one came uncomfortably close to the side of Brain's head, but he managed to swat his overzealous companion away. "That is the model I need, yes."
Pulling the book towards himself again, the salesman examined it a moment more, then flipped backwards through the book to gaze at a few more pages. Finally he closed it fully, placing it back down on the counter, and turned to face his customer with an incredibly serious expression.
"T' be perfectly honest with ya, Mister..."
"Brain," he replied automatically, then straightened as he suddenly remembered his "human" identity. "I—I mean, Brian Mouskowitz. 'Brain' is...just a nickname."
The salesman sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, Mister Mouskowitz, I really think you should get some of our newer models instead. They work much better, and—"
Without any conscious decision, Brain's hands clenched into fists by his sides, trembling violently. Pinky stopped short in his play to stare incredulously at them, ears stiffening slightly.
"I don't care how efficient your blasted 'newer models' might be!" Brain snapped angrily. But it wasn't just anger—his voice was a barely-contained symphony of annoyance and a horrible panic. "I—NEED—THOSE—MACHINES!!"
A short breath of silence filled the small store, and the three or so other shoppers froze in their tracks to stare curiously at this exchange.
Then the silence was broken by a short, choking laugh, which came out of the mouth of the beefy salesman. "Wh-whoa, whoa there, mister," he chuckled nervously, holding both hands up as a sign of peace. "I didn't mean NOTHIN' by it—I was, was just..."
He exhaled slowly, trying vainly to read either the inscrutable expression of the man before him or the perpetually-blank goggle of the man's companion. "...Look," he began again, leaning in slowly as the people around the group started hesitantly to resume their shopping, "it's just that these are some really hard-to-find models, an' the cost of them ALONE is pretty steep, not t' mention with all the service fees like locating some warehouse that's got 'em, or orderin' 'em special from some collector, plus the whole shipping and handling shpiel. I'm just lookin' out for your pocketbook, buddy."
"I don't care." Brain's teeth were gritted, and his fists so tight that his impossibly short fingernails were digging into his palms. Without those machines, the Atomic Vibrational Regulator could not be reconstructed, his basest particles could not be realigned, his real life and his real form could not be reclaimed... "No expense is too high."
Silently, Pinky put down his spaceship and stepped forwards, placing his hands awkwardly on his friend's shoulders. "We really need it," he stated quietly. "Pleeeeeeeeease?"
There was another pause, and then the large salesman sighed again, passing a hand over his forehead. "At the very least, it'd cost ya five thousand bucks total."
"We don't care," the former mice chorused, their expressions never wavering.
"...Fine." The salesman crossed his arms, conceding defeat, and groaned internally about how many extensive phone calls and website browsing it was going to take to satisfy these customers. "But I'm gonna need some dough up front."
Pinky blinked a moment, then piped up, "Well, there's a nice li'l bakery just around the corner here—"
"He means money, Pinky," interrupted the Brain firmly, reaching into his pocket and drawing out one of the wallets he'd stolen from the Acme Labs scientists. He rifled through the bills, making sure to keep the fake ID he'd made that morning visible to the salesman at all times, and finally counted out the largest amount of money he felt they could spare. "...Seventy-five...eighty...one hundred." The pile slapped down onto the counter—it'd been an immense stroke of luck that had gotten the wallets to them the day after the scientists had cashed their paychecks. "Is that sufficient?"
It took a lot of self-restraint, but somehow the electronics salesman resisted the urge to lunge forwards and stuff the entire wad into his pocket. "Y-yeah, yeah..." He began to sweat a little as he tenderly picked up the pile and reluctantly dropped it into the cash register. "I'll, um..."
"Call us the moment you've found them," Brain finished for him, and proceeded to give the man the phone number of the Staldrof Wasstordia as well as the number of the room he was staying in. Then he and Pinky left, doubling back once to make sure that the money they'd handed over had remained in the cash register, and finally were on their way towards the mall exit.
"Poit! Five thous'nd dollars, Brain..." Pinky whistled, running a hand through his hair. "'At's a lotta money, i'in't it?"
"Compared to the amount we have in our possession now, yes." The Brain's tone was flat, as he was deep in thought, absently rubbing his hairless chin. "Subtract from that the fees we'll owe to the hotel, as well as the cost of food and the like, we'll never have even half that much money." He groaned, throwing his head back and massaging his temples. "Why must this human world be so...avaricious?"
"I think it's kinda fun, actu'lly," replied Pinky absently, misunderstanding the (rhetorical) question. He shoved his hands into his pockets, just because he liked the feel of it, and continued striding along—but then something caught his attention, and he stopped short. Taking no notice, Brain walked right past him.
"How to acquire such funds?" he was fretting aloud, teeth biting down on his lower lip so hard that he almost drew blood. "All the resources I could use for such a scheme are back in the lab, and we cannot possibly venture back there without risking being caught by the police. As well, all of that might work well for a mouse, but for a hu—for this form?"
"Brain," Pinky piped up. Brain ignored him.
"Counterfeiting would be far too risky, with the large number of bills involved...as well, that would be another crime on our tally, and our chances of eluding the authorities with that on our hands would be astronomically small..."
"Brain."
"...Perhaps...no, it would be too risky to try to demand 'tax returns' from the government. To them, we could not possibly 'exist', because they would have no records of us. ...Though, that hasn't stopped us befo—"
"BRAIN!"
Finally his head snapped up, and he whipped around to glare irritably at Pinky. "What is it?!"
The tall human slowly raised his arm to point to a sign on the wall in front of him. "...What d'you suppose they mean by 'Help Wanted'?"