Post by goldenponcho on Mar 30, 2013 16:14:28 GMT -5
Kind of lame title, but I've never been so good with titles. I was bored today, and I figured since I hadn't written in a while, I'd do some Randall fic. I'll probably continue this, but don't hold me to that.
The bayou was never a hard place to lurk undetected. The thought had often occurred to Randall that he fit into this environment just as well, if not, better than he had fit in in Monstropolis. As he slinked along the bank, treading across and through winding tree roots, occasionally dipping into the shallow water, he dodged the snapping jaws of a fairly large alligator. Normally, he would have reared high above the creature, turning an angry shade of red and baring jagged teeth, but he only gave a low growl and continued on his way, not willing to bother at the moment.
He resented this place. He could have been banished anywhere, but it just had to have been here. Here in the slime and muck. Other monsters might have enjoyed it, but not him. That was exactly how they had seen him. Slimy, old Randall. Slimy, grouchy, bitter, old Randall. His scales turned the slightest hint of pink, giving away his position to a bullfrog that quickly evaded his path. It was all their fault. Their fault he was here, and their fault he had become so bitter. All of them.
He finally came to a halt as he saw the tiny, lit windows of a small stilt house held a few feet above the water right at the shoreline. He could see the flash of blue light and hear the quick zap as mosquitoes erratically hit the bug zapper at the top of he stairs on the porch.
No one was around to see him, but he blended with the grass as he slithered, belly to the ground, up to the bottom of the steps. He had to be quick and quiet if he wanted to pull this off. Luckily, he was both of those things.
Since he had been banished, he hadn't meddled much in the business of humans. In fact, he avoided them as best he could. He had a lumpy, disorganized clump of scales on his forehead that proved they were not creatures to be messed with. But this house had caught his attention. Or more accurately, the laughter that came around this time every night from the screen window of the front room on the right end.
He was fairly certain it had been about two weeks ago when he had been scavenging for some scrap of relatively clean and uneaten food around the trash cans just under that room when he had heard it. That first night, he had regarded it with some annoyance and had gone about his way, but four days later, after he had heard it five nights in a row at the exact same time, he had climbed up one of the support beams to listen more closely. He had heard another voice there; it was recognizable, but he couldn't quite but his finger on whose it was. There had to be another monster in that room; there was no other explanation.
Quickly, he had pieced together the reason for the laughs. He remembered what happened when the human kid he had gotten to test the Scream Extractor on laughed, and it didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened at the factory after he had left. He cringed to think how undignified the scare floor probably looked during working hours now, but even though he didn't want to admit it, it only made sense as a business decision. That only made him hate the change even more.
Now, after taking several days to scope out the inside of the kid's bedroom, he was quite sure he would be able to get in unseen. He had made it up the front porch steps without even a creak, and he lifted the rug where, sure enough, the hidden spare key that he had seen one of the humans use was there. Humans were so easy to outsmart sometimes; the adults almost more so than the kids.
He very slowly turned the key in the lock and opened the door, placing the key back where he had gotten it, and locking the door back behind him. The living room he was in was rather humble, but nowhere near as disheveled as the trailer he had been thrown into months ago. He got back on all eights, merging with the white carpet as he made his way down the hall and to the door to the child's room at the end. He lightly pressed a cheek against it to hear her heavy breathing. Fast asleep. He twisted the handle and crept inside, going straight for the space beneath the bed. He briefly wondered if this was where the myth of monsters living under the bed had come from. Monsters under the bed...ridiculous. And yet here he was.
Now all he had to do was wait. He coiled himself up in a position where he could see the alarm clock. Ten fifty-four. He wouldn't have to wait long.
He glanced around the room from his hiding place and was brought back to months ago, before he had been banished, even before he had collaborated with Waternoose to make the Scream Extractor. He missed scaring. More than he thought he would. He realized that had the Scream Extractor plan worked, he still probably would have missed it. Perhaps not as much as he did now, since he would have been promoted to second only to Waternoose himself and would have had a massive raise to boot. But he still would have missed it. It didn't matter now, though. He'd never get to scare again.
The thought gave him a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was Sullivan's fault. He just had to get involved, just had to go poking around. And now him and that little, round twerp were probably living in their own penthouse by now.
He gasped when the sound of the closet door opening startled him, covering his mouth to mute his breathing. He instantly recognized the furry, orange feet of George Sanderson as they lumbered to the side of the bed. There were a few seconds of silence before George's voice boomed to announce himself.
“Hehey! How ya doin', Tabby?!”
There was an excited gasp above him and the child's giggles started up, greeting the monster back with something that sounded like 'Georgy', but not quite.
He heard George chuckle but tuned out whatever terrible jokes he might be telling and made his way to wait by the door unseen. He barely registered hearing George say something about a guava melon before he was splattered with wet chunks of said fruit, barely chocking back a cry of protest. He glanced back, to see George reared back, mallet in hand just before it came down on the large watermelon that sat there one the floor, and he was once again covered with a spray of fruit. By the end of George's act, Randall was covered in a mess of juice and seeds, and when George pulled out a comically large vacuum cleaner nozzle to clean up, he barely evaded being sucked into it himself.
“Hahaha! I'll see you tomorrow night, Tabitha! I hope ya like honeydew!”
Randall almost growled in annoyance, shaking off the last few seeds from his now sticky scales. He readied himself at the bottom corner of the door, and as soon as it was opened wide enough, he slipped through.
The bayou was never a hard place to lurk undetected. The thought had often occurred to Randall that he fit into this environment just as well, if not, better than he had fit in in Monstropolis. As he slinked along the bank, treading across and through winding tree roots, occasionally dipping into the shallow water, he dodged the snapping jaws of a fairly large alligator. Normally, he would have reared high above the creature, turning an angry shade of red and baring jagged teeth, but he only gave a low growl and continued on his way, not willing to bother at the moment.
He resented this place. He could have been banished anywhere, but it just had to have been here. Here in the slime and muck. Other monsters might have enjoyed it, but not him. That was exactly how they had seen him. Slimy, old Randall. Slimy, grouchy, bitter, old Randall. His scales turned the slightest hint of pink, giving away his position to a bullfrog that quickly evaded his path. It was all their fault. Their fault he was here, and their fault he had become so bitter. All of them.
He finally came to a halt as he saw the tiny, lit windows of a small stilt house held a few feet above the water right at the shoreline. He could see the flash of blue light and hear the quick zap as mosquitoes erratically hit the bug zapper at the top of he stairs on the porch.
No one was around to see him, but he blended with the grass as he slithered, belly to the ground, up to the bottom of the steps. He had to be quick and quiet if he wanted to pull this off. Luckily, he was both of those things.
Since he had been banished, he hadn't meddled much in the business of humans. In fact, he avoided them as best he could. He had a lumpy, disorganized clump of scales on his forehead that proved they were not creatures to be messed with. But this house had caught his attention. Or more accurately, the laughter that came around this time every night from the screen window of the front room on the right end.
He was fairly certain it had been about two weeks ago when he had been scavenging for some scrap of relatively clean and uneaten food around the trash cans just under that room when he had heard it. That first night, he had regarded it with some annoyance and had gone about his way, but four days later, after he had heard it five nights in a row at the exact same time, he had climbed up one of the support beams to listen more closely. He had heard another voice there; it was recognizable, but he couldn't quite but his finger on whose it was. There had to be another monster in that room; there was no other explanation.
Quickly, he had pieced together the reason for the laughs. He remembered what happened when the human kid he had gotten to test the Scream Extractor on laughed, and it didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened at the factory after he had left. He cringed to think how undignified the scare floor probably looked during working hours now, but even though he didn't want to admit it, it only made sense as a business decision. That only made him hate the change even more.
Now, after taking several days to scope out the inside of the kid's bedroom, he was quite sure he would be able to get in unseen. He had made it up the front porch steps without even a creak, and he lifted the rug where, sure enough, the hidden spare key that he had seen one of the humans use was there. Humans were so easy to outsmart sometimes; the adults almost more so than the kids.
He very slowly turned the key in the lock and opened the door, placing the key back where he had gotten it, and locking the door back behind him. The living room he was in was rather humble, but nowhere near as disheveled as the trailer he had been thrown into months ago. He got back on all eights, merging with the white carpet as he made his way down the hall and to the door to the child's room at the end. He lightly pressed a cheek against it to hear her heavy breathing. Fast asleep. He twisted the handle and crept inside, going straight for the space beneath the bed. He briefly wondered if this was where the myth of monsters living under the bed had come from. Monsters under the bed...ridiculous. And yet here he was.
Now all he had to do was wait. He coiled himself up in a position where he could see the alarm clock. Ten fifty-four. He wouldn't have to wait long.
He glanced around the room from his hiding place and was brought back to months ago, before he had been banished, even before he had collaborated with Waternoose to make the Scream Extractor. He missed scaring. More than he thought he would. He realized that had the Scream Extractor plan worked, he still probably would have missed it. Perhaps not as much as he did now, since he would have been promoted to second only to Waternoose himself and would have had a massive raise to boot. But he still would have missed it. It didn't matter now, though. He'd never get to scare again.
The thought gave him a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was Sullivan's fault. He just had to get involved, just had to go poking around. And now him and that little, round twerp were probably living in their own penthouse by now.
He gasped when the sound of the closet door opening startled him, covering his mouth to mute his breathing. He instantly recognized the furry, orange feet of George Sanderson as they lumbered to the side of the bed. There were a few seconds of silence before George's voice boomed to announce himself.
“Hehey! How ya doin', Tabby?!”
There was an excited gasp above him and the child's giggles started up, greeting the monster back with something that sounded like 'Georgy', but not quite.
He heard George chuckle but tuned out whatever terrible jokes he might be telling and made his way to wait by the door unseen. He barely registered hearing George say something about a guava melon before he was splattered with wet chunks of said fruit, barely chocking back a cry of protest. He glanced back, to see George reared back, mallet in hand just before it came down on the large watermelon that sat there one the floor, and he was once again covered with a spray of fruit. By the end of George's act, Randall was covered in a mess of juice and seeds, and when George pulled out a comically large vacuum cleaner nozzle to clean up, he barely evaded being sucked into it himself.
“Hahaha! I'll see you tomorrow night, Tabitha! I hope ya like honeydew!”
Randall almost growled in annoyance, shaking off the last few seeds from his now sticky scales. He readied himself at the bottom corner of the door, and as soon as it was opened wide enough, he slipped through.