Disclaimer: I do not own the canon characters that are in Team Legacy; I only own the original characters in the team and the name itself, Zalira Demur, Master Groundwood, the lion cubs, Abraham Hershel, Mr. Piano and of course the storyline.
Chapter 2: Onward To Washington, D.C. And To The Mansion Of Mr. Piano
Rhonda and the Legacy had finally arrived at The Tooberku Muskgee Subway Station. The assistant manager of the subway station, Master Groundwood, who was a shaven, cheery-eyed, enthusiastic, cautious, naïve, friendly, brilliant, skinny, muscular, smooth-faced, handsome, good-looking, resourceful, level headed, moralistic, young, 6"5 ½ college freshman fresh out of high school with a fresh and optimistic outlook on the world and was always looking forward to being the assistant manager of his own business. He was always polite and earnest with his customers, and he took great care to be honest and to give good service as much as possible.
"Hello, Team Legacy! What can I do for you?" he greeted them. "We would like a ticket for Washington, D.C.," requested Adult Simba. "That would be $5," answered Master Groundwood. Nuka then chipped in a crisp 5-dollar bill and then Master Groundwood held it up to his face. He then scanned it thoroughly with his X-ray vision and then pushed a button in the cash register and the drawer clang open. He then set the bill into the drawer and then slammed the button of the ticket manufacturer and then the machine spat out a pink, rectangular-shaped ticket with a hurricane sign on it.
Mercy Hillary snatched the ticket and then examined it. "What the fuck is this? This has a hurricane sign on it!" she fumed. "It was my boss, I swear," countered Master Groundwood defensively. "Shut up, everyone! We do not have much time to waste. Mr. Piano might have killed himself already if we don't hurry," roared Zira angrily. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. All right. Let's get in the dang train already," snarled Lois Whitley. Patience Barton snorted. "Let me beat up some dang professional gunslingers," she muttered to herself.
The Legacy then entered the subway station. Their train was already there. The sliding doors let up for the heroes to go through, and so they passed through them and entered the train. Once the doors closed, the train instantly started moving. "Holy shit! We're heading for Washington!" shouted Angelo. "Who knows? We might meet up with Hilary Clinton or Obama," commented Maria. "Perhaps we might. We might," responded Gus. Rhonda was just looking out at the window, with her arms folded on her back and her solemn, thoughtful, serious expression reflecting in the light. "I wonder what that kid's thinking of next," whispered Laverne. "Yeah. I wonder what's up with her," replied Hugo.
"Do you think she's all right?" inquired Kalvu. "For all I know, America's been through a lot of hell in the last year. Florida's economy sucks, we might be heading into a recession, and the stimulus package that the Senate's trying to give to President Brush might not be enough to save the economy," argued Emily Hartley. "No spit, Sherlock. We might be moving into serious trouble," agreed James Gordon. "Does anyone remember the Reagan years? Now that was really bad," retorted Tess McNeal.
"Yeah. Many small businesses had to be closed," recalled Thomas Carmichael. "We really shouldn't go into the gloom and doom. The economy might pick up by 2010," Victor spoke up. "What if it never picks up? What if we fall into another Great Depression?" lashed out Patience Barton while trembling with anger and frustration. "What did you do to cope with the Reagan years, Tess?" interrogated Samantha Perkins. Paula Richards perked up in order to listen to what Tess McNeal had to say.
"I simply tried to weather it out. I took a job as a high school French literature teacher and a waitress. I also did any gig that came my way. I even served as a volunteer at a hospice center for children with terminal illness. I try to bring happiness to those that didn't have much to live. I wasn't about to let Mick's bullcrap get in the way of my work. As for Mick, his work as a mechanic slackened off, and eventually he quit altogether. I was so furious when it happened. He was a spoiled brat who wanted somebody to do stuff for him and he was not accustomed to hard times, and when they do hit close to home, he usually turned a blind eye to them."
"Believe me, when I was a child in France, hard times occurred more than easy times, and I was so used to them that every time bad fortunes struck my family, I would sail through them as if it was nothing. I know it sounds kind of callous and insensitive, but I know the pain that people go through in times like these. And I know how to get your mind off the bad times," Tess McNeal explained to everyone.
That was when she started dancing. Rhonda then turned around and saw her cousin dancing and smiled. In turn, she started to dance too. Tess McNeal made a glance at her young cousin and started to form a grin too. Her niece Marie Frances might be rotten, vile, selfish, and nefarious, but Rhonda was something else. She was an angel. Tess McNeal then moved her hips from side to side and threw her head around and yelled out a hoot. Soon the entire team was dancing their troubles away. Everyone was in complete ecstasy and euphoria.
Just two seats down was an investigative journalist/amateur sleuth who was looking for a big story. This man was from Montreal, Quebec and he was of Scottish, English, Swedish and Belgian descent besides being French. He was 6"3 and his skin was already weathering and leathery. His white hair was balding and receding, his visage was rugged and weary, and his eyes was sagging and losing its vitality. His hairy body was worn out and shriveled, but still retained its good muscle tone. His legs were the only ones that were still sharp and strong, and they have always been important to him for moving, walking, and running.
The man wore a brown wooly sweater and some faded holey, tattered jeans, and shining, clean, decent shoes. His huge, wide elephant feet were highly noticeable and made a lot of noise. He also had an old 1830's cowboy hat and an old semiautomatic revolver passed down from his great-great-great grandfather. The world had worn and torn him down, taught him tough, cruel and haunting lessons to remember, taught him to be cynical, miserable, and bitter… but most of all, to think that all humankind would become a pile of waste someday. He had been cheated, robbed, conned, betrayed, shot, left for dead, lost many colleagues to the merciless hands of fate, had his heart broken by the inconsiderate and cutthroat women of the world, and worst of all, having his own children shame his own name.
His life was nothing but tragedy after tragedy. There had been barely a moment in his life where he had a pure moment of happiness. The man looked upon the dancing crowd and felt the bittersweet tears well up in his eyes and his heart tore up into pieces. But he shook his head quickly and reminded himself to remain focused on his assignment. "Find me a good story, besides the 2008 elections, and you'll receive anything your heart desires. If not, you will be let go," his boss had said. The man then took out a cigarette box and then picked out a cigarette and lit it up. He then took a drag and then sank into his seat while smoke drifted from his cigarette.
Tess McNeal then happened to notice the man and then got curious. She then approached him slowly and carefully and then quietly sat down on the seat near him. The two adults looked at the fleeting window and the dancing shadows that served as natural entertainment. "Beautiful train isn't it?" remarked Tess McNeal. "The heck it is," mumbled the man bitterly. "Where are you heading?" questioned Tess McNeal. "Washington, D.C. I'm a'searching for a dang good story or my boss will lay me off," answered the man rather coolly. "A good story, huh? Perhaps you'll be lucky," replied Tess McNeal.
"Maybe. Never had much luck as it is," scoffed the man disbelievingly. "Well my life hasn't been exactly a bed of roses either," retorted Tess McNeal. "You're a tough lady. I like that," observed the man. "What's your name?" Tess McNeal continued to ask him. "My name is Abraham Hershel," answered the man. Tess McNeal chuckled. "You seem to be an Englishman. You look like a Frenchman but you act like a true Englishman," she teased lightly. "Well, I have been raised in England for much of my childhood. My father was a traveling diplomat who was stationed there for a number of years. Back then I thought life held a lot of promise. And now in my early 50's… I don't know what to do anymore," quoted Abraham Hershel.
"You still got some years left, old tiger. Don't you have some fire in you still?" flirted Tess McNeal seductively. "The fire in me has died out a long time ago, with years of pain, suffering, misery, betrayal, heartbreak, attempts on my life…" lamented Abraham Hershel sadly. "What happened?" asked Tess McNeal. "Why would a young woman like you want to know about the sad story of a disillusioned man?" berated Abraham Hershel. "Has a disillusioned man like you have some pride left?" shot back Tess McNeal. "Gold digger," hissed Abraham Hershel. "You have no manly pride left, do you?" growled Tess McNeal irked. Abraham Hershel then got up and then squeezed her neck and lifted her up to his face.
Tess McNeal gagged and gasped for air and was writhing in convulsions. She knew what was coming when Abraham went for her neck. In fact, Mick used to do this to her when he was angry and/or drunk. "You little wretched French girl. Soon your pain and suffering in this world will all be over once I squeeze the life out of you," boasted Abraham Hershel vaingloriously. "You have no idea who you're messing with, buster," admonished Tess McNeal while choking. Just then, the elderly investigative journalist was surrounded by cold, damp mist and was also blinded. The misty smoke was so thick that he didn't see Tess McNeal disappear into midair. Then, without warning, he was soon entombed into a frozen, icy statue.
When Tess McNeal got back to her team, they were congregated into a group. She then started to wonder what was going on, and then flew up in the air. As she glided a short distance, a woven wooden oak basket down below caught her eye and she decided to investigate. Tess McNeal then slowly hovered to the ground and then squatted in front of the basket.
Poodles was sniffing the basket's scent and was observing five lion cubs that lay in there sleeping. One was white, another one was maroon/red, another one was midnight blue, another one was periwinkle, and the fifth one was somewhere between yellow and orange and had a light pink nose. Her ears wiggled and flapped as she slept and her nose wrinkled and crinkled and finally she awoke from her slumber. That was when Tess McNeal was taken aback. Her eyes were gold and her irises were light green and she had distinct, bold eyebrows shaped like a sloping U. What was even more shocking was that she seemed to resemble Simba.
"Wait a minute, whose cubs are those?" asked Cera. "Me have no idea," replied Petrie. "Yeah, that's a very good question," added Littlefoot. "When did you guys found this basket?" demanded Tess McNeal. "Just now. Paul almost bowled out of the train from tripping over it," answered May. "Yeah, sorry," apologized Paul Swimmerton. "Guys, we have to find the mother. Who knows if she's still even around," announced Adult Nala.
All of a sudden the train jolted and shook in earthquake strength as it was being sucked into an unknown dimension. Henry Rosenberg then looked out of the window. "Ah, fuck! We have just landed into a time warp section heading into an unknown zone called The Hurricane Space Zone. If this gets really bad, we could end up in another time period in Washington, D.C.!" he complained. "Or worse," breathed May in trepidation. "Everyone, let's make sure that basket does not end up lost in The Hurricane Space Zone, okay? Now, who's going to volunteer to look after the cubs?" commanded Rhonda. "Don't worry, Rhonda. Cliff and I will look after the cubs," volunteered Buddy. "Ah, thanks a lot Buddy. Now we have to baby sit for newborns," groused Cliff. "Anything for community service," piped in Buddy cheerfully.
Cliff and Buddy were roosted on the basket handle hanging upside down in a batty matter. This was the very behavior that their parents before them had practiced and was innate. It was one of the natural instincts that fingerbirds had followed over the years, and they use this behavior whenever a fingerling was sleeping below them. They also sleep this way. "Jeez, Buddy. How long are they going to sleep?" squawked Cliff impatiently. "Don't worry, Cliff. Patience will pay off somehow, someway," Buddy reassured her friend. Then Cliff and Buddy started singing, "Enough is Enough." They swayed to and fro and danced while keeping their voices low and managing to turn the song into one harmonious melody. Some of the cubs were rolling over and even the female newborn cub made a swipe with her paw.
"Will you shut up? They're sleeping!" barked Princess Debra. "Sorry," chorused Cliff and Buddy. "Well you better," scolded Princess Debra, upset. "Good Lord! You actually do that?" exclaimed Angela Lansing. "Yep. I know it seems weird, but yeah we do it," answered Cliff while shrugging. The tiny female cub then started mewing and flipped onto her chest. She then started nosing around while crawling barely two inches. "Oh no. No you are not going anywhere, little missy!" shouted Buddy and then swooped down and then grabbed the cub by the neck. She then flew up high, causing the little kitten to mew constantly and hysterically.
"Buddy, what are you doing?" cried Cliff, frightened and terrified. "Put down that kid right now!" ordered Lena Rosenberg. "Oh yeah? Are you gonna make me?" challenged Buddy defiantly while in a muffled voice. "Uh oh. You really shouldn't have done that," said Bob Newton. "You are in really deep shit, you know that?" retorted Suzanne Carmichael. Lena Rosenberg then lunged for the cub and grabbed her legs. Now she and Buddy were engaged in a dangerous, delicate and fragile tug of war. "Are you nuts? You're going to rip her to shreds! She'll be a bloody mess!" screeched Zira while exploding. The little cub then bit Buddy's wing and then the teenage fingerbird yelled in agony and pain. "YEEOUCH!" cried Buddy and then soon the cub was in Lena's clutches. "That was way too easy for my taste," she commented.
The lioness cub mewed once more. "That's all you can do? Mew?" Lena Rosenberg retorted to the cub. "Mew," was the cub's reply. "Well, you look like you're from Finland," said Lena Rosenberg with a smirk. "Mew," answered the cub while grinning back. That stumped the veteran hotelier and she paled rapidly. Eva Granger giggled. Suzanne Carmichael snickered. Zira was quickly breaking into laughter. "Okay, genius. What's your excuse?" growled Lena Rosenberg.
"Arroz con leche en Washington, D.C. y Mexico!" squeaked the cub. "What is this?" interrogated Paul Swimmerton. "This kid didn't even have arroz con leche!" protested May. "Hilary Clinton ist ein Weibchen und sie verkaufen LSD in Texas," chimed the young lioness cub. "Since when do they sell LSD in Texas?" demanded Nikki. "Duh, they sell drugs anywhere!" retorted Angelo. "L'hourra pour Selena!" cheered the little kitten while giggling. "Any comments for me?" asked Nuka boastfully.
Then, everyone on board felt a powerful of gravity dragging down upon them as the train was falling down towards the ground and was now rotating in a tailspin. "Are we out of The Hurricane Space Zone yet?" questioned Benny Crawford. "Does it look like it to you we are?" snapped Jeanette Paris while clouting her in the chest. "May Day! May Day! We're about to have a violent landing! Everyone stay where you are and let's just hope we all don't perish!" announced the train conductor. Just then the cubs were soaring and flying all over the train with outstretched claws and legs and with high pitched squeaks and howls and hisses.
Laura Perkins tumbled towards a window and with her legs pushed herself away from it and then rebounded on a wall. Stitch positioned himself on a wall and then Laura crashed onto it and then turned to face him. "Hello, Stitch. How are you fairing?" she inquired him. "Okay," Stitch said while making a circle with his index finger and thumb. "Tom, I'm afraid this is it. I'm afraid we won't survive the crash," Suzanne informed her husband. "Are you saying we're all going to die?" interrupted Rhonda. "Looks like it. However, let's all stay calm, shall we?" answered Suzanne. "I cannot think of a better way to die than to die with my team right beside me under terrifying and perilous circumstances," Rhonda admitted.
Right when she said it, she then started to imagine the explicit and disturbing carnage, with the train broken and split apart into pieces and with multiple bloodied bodies scattered and lying on the ground lifeless. Her face whitened at that very thought. But then the blue jay that had been near fatally injured not too long ago suddenly materializes in front of the train and then starts to sing a tenor opera song. At that moment in time, time itself started to slow down. "Oh my God. Time is actually slacking," murmured Vitani to herself.
The train seemed to be inching closer and closer to land, but not as fast as it was moments before. "Yes!" shouted Courage victoriously. "That's awesome!" cried Adult Nala. "Very impressive," added Adult Kovu while chuckling. But then the train was dematerializing right before their eyes and soon Rhonda and the Legacy were ejected out of it. The train then exploded into a huge fireball and the train conductor soared 100 miles an hour into Las Vegas in flames. Motherfucking shit!" he roared.
For Zira, she could now see some flashbacks from her past, about falling off a cliff into the cold, deep river currents. She then screamed so loudly that it rang in everyone's ears. Yubaba scanned the sandy grounds for any signs of life, and without warning, a blur of yellow fur, malevolent, dark, vicious, cold, insane, callous eyes, and dark brown claws lunged at her, and everything dimmed dark.
Translation:
Arroz con leche en Washington, D.C. y Mexico!: Rice pudding in Washington, D.C. and Mexico!
L'hourra pour Selena!: The cheering for Selena!