A/N: Would you guys hate me if this ended really dark? It seems very cliche to end it dark...yet equally as cliche to end it happy.
&& Fraggles are silly, that why the judge slept in court! As for Wilfred, would you have rather put up with him for the rest of the series? :)
But now that I think about it, I don't think the show is long enough to prove that fraggles DON'T progress because I mean, they are (probably) not adults (I think) and the show lasted, what, four years?
I guess we'll see how THAT one plays out if the movie ever comes out :P :)
The events of the morning, swirling and churning inside Boober's head, did not seem to add up.
First of all, it wasn't morning anymore. As Boober decidedly walked towards Gobo and Wembley's shared cave, he realized that Wembley had said things like "this morning", and "still asleep when she came". Wembley was quite alert, as if he had been awake for quite some time. But didn't Boober discover those…bloody…shirts just half an hour or so ago? I think I'm going CRAZY, he thought to himself. Maybe I fell asleep after finding the shirts? Or maybe I fell asleep before sorting through… He paused. Was it…a dream? He began walking even more decidedly than before.
If that was a dream, it was the most horrifying one I've ever had.
Plus I can be sure it was a dream if I bring Gobo back to the cave and nothing is there, so I shouldn't waste any more time double-
Suddenly Boober's droopy nose stung with a dull pain and his vision went momentarily blank as he cried out, terrified. In his mind he saw a third article of clothing - a thin brown scarf, stained and soaked with blood much like the two shirts in his cave. I'M NEXT, he thought. Surprised, he fell ungracefully to the ground, slumped over the side of a stalagmite that had been so carelessly placed directly in his path, and saw no one nearby (save Wembley); too frightened to search for his attacker and too relieved to do anything but grab his throbbing face.
"Uh, Boober?" Wembley stared at him. "Are you…okay?"
"Do I look like I'm okay! Ohh, my precious NOSE!" Boober winced as he held his nose with both hands.
"I guess it gets kind of hard to see with all that hair, huh?" Wembley laughed nervously, again. His wembling, people-pleasing nature didn't much bother Boober before but hearing that nervous laugh and seeing that tentative smile for the second time that morning really annoyed him. He attested it to his red stress level and tried to shake off the slowly-ebbing pain in his nose.
"What are you talking abo..." Oh. Boober realized what had really happened as he stood up, face to face with the enormous stalagmite, relieved that he hadn't been attacked, but embarrassed that Wembley had been there to witness his clumsiness.
"Let's just...forget about that, Wembley," Boober muttered irritably. "And besides...I like my long hair. It's appropriate."
Gobo was a fraggle who could not usually appreciate the finer points of a long, relaxing, uneventful afternoon. On most days he could be found in the depths of any of the various tunnels of Fraggle Rock - the more obscure the tunnel, the higher the chance of finding Gobo there. But today was different: Gobo was lounging on his bed when Boober and Wembley arrived, strumming out a few soft chords on his homemade guitar and alternately humming and scatting out a twangy, catchy melody. Boober had always admired Gobo's relaxed singing style almost to the point of jealousy, as he felt his own singing sounded a little strange, sometimes even strained, with his articulate speaking style.
Unsure of how to announce the grisly goings-on, Boober paused once inside the cave, listening to Gobo's impromptu piece tensely despite its relaxing sound...but that didn't give him much time to think as Gobo stopped playing once he noticed his friends listening, for as adventurous and courageous as Gobo was, he also was entitled to some sort of insecurity regarding his own singing voice, and had not expected to serenade anyone with the simple, scattered tune.
"Do you, um, need something?" Gobo asked, slightly embarrassed. "I mean, it's fine, fine if you do. I was just, ah..."
"Actually Gobo, Boober was-"
"Well, you see, I-"
"Oh, sorry Boober, I-"
"...was just- oh it's okay-"
"HEEY, GOBO!"
"going to talk to-"
"Red! Boober's trying to hold a conversation here!"
"about the-"
"Oh, sorry Boober, but GUESS WHAT!"
"Okay, okay everyone just stop talking!" It was always Gobo to end chaotic moments like this one, made even more chaotic by Red's trumpeted arrival.
"Alright, now what's going on, Boober?"
"There's some...dirty laundry in my cave." Boober stared at Gobo's face, trying to decipher any reaction this statement might bring.
No reaction whatsoever. Gobo looked at Boober blankly for a few seconds and then groaned.
"Boober, I think you're using too much bleach nuts in that tiny cave of yours."
"It's not regular dirty. It's..." He didn't want to give it away. He didn't want to suspect anyone but he wanted to be sure before he spilled the beans.
"Well I don't know how to clean it, Boober! Who do I look like, the trash heap?" He's irritated, Boober thought.
Do killers usually get irritated when they feel like implications are being made? Or when they feel like someone has discovered them? He gulped.
"Something...something bad. Something bad happened. I think someone is...hurt, or something." Boober looked more closely than before, for anything.
But he forgot Red was in the room. He forgot that Red could hear everything; he forgot to watch her reaction.
Gobo's irritated expression slowly softened into concern. This was enough for Boober, and he began to narrate the morning's events...leaving out the missing time, hoping no one would ask. He felt that the missing time was some sort of proof that he was losing his mind.
But, strangely enough, Gobo didn't seem very concerned with any of the details of Boober's story.
"Boober, I've got to admit that if that really happened it would be a real-life nightmare. But I don't think you've ever seen what happens when a fraggle's out wandering the caves: why I've had plenty of shirts that got stained from cuts and scrapes out in the tunnels. And don't even get me started on the needle-rock caverns...there are a million ways a fraggle could get a cut or a scrape that would draw enough blood to stain a shirt or two! Oh, and what about the red river out by Goulash caverns? I'll bet if someone fell in and managed to get out, their shirt would look as red as anything!"
"I think you are going to have to see the shirts before you come up with other theories," Boober bitterly replied. "The more time we spend trying to convince ourselves nothing is wrong...the less time we have to figure out what really happened."
Gobo frowned. He wasn't used to having his input contradicted. Especially not by Boober.
"Well, I- er, Wembley! What do you think about all this?" Bad question.
"W, w, well, I-I don't know, Gobo, I mean...sure I guess it could be from the red river..." Wembley started slowly, and then more confidently as his input came to a close, nodding his head.
But his eyes didn't look very sure of anything.
"Wembley!" Boober put his hands to his hips and Wembley, startled, turned to him.
"Don't you think I, the only launderer in the rock, would know the difference between blood and rusty red water?"
"Well, of course you would, Boober! Oh you guys, don't make me wemble right now..."
"Hey, Boober?" Red's voice sounded very different when she was being serious. It mellowed and softened and if you couldn't see her face you'd think she was on the verge of tears.
(Although that was usually the only time her voice changed like that.)
The other three turned to look at Red, having quite forgotten that she was even there.
"Why didn't you just say all of this in the first place?"
As Gobo and Wembley considered this, they turned back to Boober and stared.
"Hey...yeah, I was in your cave just a minute ago and..."
"...And you could've shown Wembley the shirts and everything would be going a lot smoother!"
Boober frowned.
"Hey, I'm just trying to be careful."
"What, do you not trust us or something?" Gobo was somewhat hurt. He had every reason to be.
A general feeling of uneasiness now pervaded the small room. Gobo, Wembley, and Red saw Boober as distrustful.
That in turn lessened their trust in him.