12 Labors of Barkis
By: Wilona Riva
Disclaimer: Tim Burton who? Yeah. Yeah. We know.
Author's Note: This is Amaki's idea, so she's doing the writing. As we can remember only Mrs. Plum's name, all other cooks shall not remain nameless. Our decision. Enjoy.
Chapter Nine: The Cooks' Free Time
Mr. Plum said, "Can you get my hatchet?"
Mrs. Plum obliged, yanking it out of her husband's back. His eye swung about as he turned to her to take it, and then he faced back towards the wall. They were standing a good twenty feet away from the wall, which was ordinarily covered with shelves of pots and pans, but now it had all been cleared away.
In it's place was Barkis, shackled to the wall. Red and white paintbuckets were on the floor nearby, empty with still dirty paintbrushes lying next to them. The wall itself used to be blank, but now was painted to resemble a very large target resembling a dart board.
And Barkis was shackled right in the center of it, his arms and legs stretched out so he couldn't wiggle. While he was given a break to stretch his arms and legs from his babysitting duty, he had no idea he would be stretching out like this. Even worse he had on a blindfold at first. Bonejangles whipped off that blindfold now and, cackling to himself, he backed away, gesturing to the three cooks. Barkis eventually noticed what was painted behind him... what was in front of him... and then...
"Uh-oh."
Mr. Plum raised the hatchet over his head... "Right..." he said slowly, carefully taking aim, "Betweeeeen..." He pulled his arm way back, "The eyes!" SWING!
Swish!
TWANG!
Barkis let out a tiny whimper as the blade trembled in the wall right next to his left ear. It continued to wiggle just a bit, and he almost wished that Bonejangles would at least put a finger on it to stop it from swinging side to side in place. Instead, Bonejangles was keeping score along with Scraps. Scraps barked, and Bonejangles said, "Twenty points? Okay!" and he marked the board while Scraps nodded in agreement, and then barked as if to say, "Next!"
The second cook came up. Clara held up a extremely sharp bread knife, it's jagged edge gleaming in the light of the kitchen. "I'll beat that score," she said, and she threw the knife.
A whistle in the air and another TWANG! later and the bread knife was gently trembling right next to Barkis' right ear. His lip trembled and he whimpered some more.
Scraps barked again, and Bonejangles marked off the points on the board. "Thirty points! Okay!" and at another bark from Scraps, Mrs. Plum yanked a knife out of her husbands back, but after a second thought, she jabbed it back into him and pulled out a grilling fork.
"Your aim is terrible!" she said peevishly.
"Well, I was going for his heart or stomach area, but I only have one eye, and it's staring at the floor right now," Mr. Plum said, pointing to the eye that dangled from it's socket, his other eye socket glared at her, even if it was empty.
"And don't you go blaming me," Clara said. "I was aiming for his right eye. I was closer than he was!"
"Try beating this then," Mrs. Plum said. SWING!
Swish!
"Ow!" came Barkis' yell of pain at long last.
The other two chefs whistled through their teeth.
"Whoa!" Bonejangles said, clearly impressed. He glanced at the chalkboard and then at Scraps, who seemed to shrug. Bonejangles said, "I think we have our winner!" He gave Mrs. Plum two million points... one million for each target struck.
Mrs. Plum wiped her hands and smirked, and said, "And that's how it's done."