Post by lizardgirl on Dec 30, 2005 9:18:26 GMT -5
Yep, I've actually written a fanfic (well, part of it, so far) in time for the new year. It's gonna be short- this is the first part of three- and is pretty random. It's my first fic that has nothing to do with any of my others, and it doesn't have many original characters, because they take time to develop, and time is something I don't have. The next part will be up in a month or so, or maybe sooner depending.
Yeah, so this was basically written on a whim, without much thought or consideration. Sorry about that. ;D
'Easier Said Than Done', Part 1
The Scareboard leered almost menacingly above the monsters below, most of which were hardly taking notice of it. Why would such a thing matter to someone who would never be able to see their name at its top, with a hefty number next to it, just because they didn’t have the talent?
But for those who were a lot closer to fame and glory, it was all that mattered. Randall had been second for several months now, and the idea of a new day bringing new numbers and new hope was getting a little worn. That morning, out of the eight doors that he had rushed through, three had had to be shredded. Maybe Randall had just been a bit unfortunate- it was a known fact that humans were getting a lot harder to scare, so when they didn’t produce any screams, it wasn’t ever going to be a massive surprise.
Though there was, admittedly, something a little…discouraging about the idea of not being able to do the one thing that, in Randall’s case, he was practically born to do. He therefore got quite stressed about it, and, when in the Monster World, glanced at the Scareboard every other second. Sulley, Randall’s only superior, was always one step ahead of him, it seemed, but now the distance had grown to two, three steps.
Randall took a deep breath before plunging into his next door. All of this worrying was completely unnecessary, he convinced himself. Completely and utterly unnecessary.
The room was swathed in darkness, the air stuffy and compacted within the small space. There were no windows, and the walls seemed to be made out of a very solid, bumpy material. The child lay curled up on a mat in the centre of the room, wearing nothing.
Randall, for the first time in years, entered a room with an air of uncertainty. It had been Waternoose’s own words that a Scarer needed to be ‘tough’ and ‘courageous’, yet these things seemed a million miles away from Randall’s state of mind. He crept in, did the usual scurrying about, and found himself in the traditional ‘loom over the child with a threatening stance’ position. The person in his head shrugged, doubtful that this was going to work, yet curious nonetheless.
And so he growled and sneered and bared his lovely, shiny teeth, and he waited and waited.
And so the child slowly opened his eyes and sat up, and almost smiled. He lifted a tattooed arm up, raising his index finger as though he was acting out that well-known scene from E.T.
Randall wasn’t even shocked any more. He lowered his arms and folded them, backing away just enough so he was out of reach of the child’s homing finger. Then, he proceeded to do something no other Scarer, with the exception of one, would ever dare to do.
He spoke.
“You couldn’t do me a favour, could ya?” A bemused expression came across the kid’s face. “Just scream. Y’know, like ‘aargh’, but a bit louder. Just for a second or two.” After a few moments of silence, Randall sighed, figuring that this child obviously didn’t understand, and turned to the rug door.
In the next second, the child had leapt with the agility of a large cat, grasping onto Randall’s torso and grinning quite manically. The boy shouted out in a language unknown.
Obviously, the whole thing had come as a shock to Randall, and his first reaction was to just push away the child. The person in his head had that smug ‘I told you so’ expression, and wasn’t helping very much.
Struggling with the force of the child’s grip, Randall fell backwards, groping for the rug door as the world swung about. He crashed through it, his head slamming onto the ground quite sharply.
If another Scarer had been in Randall’s shoes, the first thing they would be concerned about was the idea of the child’s germs infecting him and eventually killing him. In Randall’s case, he was considerably more concerned about the fact that there were people watching him, and also that his beautiful, untarnished record of zero decontaminations looked to be endangered.
Time for a little action.
Randall somehow got to his feet, the child still clinging onto him and still shouting out some very obscure syllables, and grabbed it quite roughly, shoving it back through into its own world. He…’closed’ the rug, stabbed at the buttons on the console, and sent the door-frame away.
Everyone stared, quite gripped by the action. Mike, of course, smiled, inhaled deeply, and shouted out “34-18! We got a 34-18!” This was the code for human contact to a monster, and no-one could deny what had just happened. Everyone had witnessed it.
Randall shut his eyes ever so slowly. This meant decontamination, yes, and as the alarm blared, his grim face was projected on the screens above him. He wanted recognition, sure, but not this kind of recognition. Mentally and physically exhausted, he stood, waiting for the legendary CDA to come to the rescue. Running away from this would be pretty suspicious, and Randall didn’t need that either, especially with what he was involved with at that time- the Scream Extractor, amongst other things.
Two CDA agents dropped by him, one at each side, and they clawed at his arms, holding him still. The speaker above blasted out commands, telling Randall not to move and to just let the CDA do their job. But he’d had enough.
Waternoose stood, watching.
Randall looked over at him, waiting.
But the weary lizard-monster knew nothing was going to happen. Not yet, at least. No-one would come to his defence, no-one would help him, no-one would have the least bit of simple common SENSE to realise that humans weren’t toxic, or that any of the other crap that the Monsters were force-fed from the second that they were born was completely unrealistic. Lies, lies, and more lies.
And it was hard for Randall. There were times when he wished that he didn’t know the truth about Humans; that he believed like everyone else, just to make it easier.
He almost swung at one of those dim-witted CDA agents.
It was all building up, and he couldn’t let it out.
~*~*~
The light-bulb popped. Randall got up and felt his way to the kitchen, wincing at every step- the decontamination process had been pretty painful to say the least. The curtains were all drawn in the apartment, but it was pretty dark anyway- the sun hadn’t risen yet, as it was only one o’ clock in the morning. Randall opened a cupboard and took out the last bulb off one of the shelves, making a note to himself to buy a few more the next time he was to go shopping. He made his way back to his makeshift desk, unscrewed the bulb that had popped from his desk lamp (after having burnt his fingers), and screwed the new one in.
He switched the lamp on reluctantly, revealing a massive pile of paperwork begging to be ticked, crossed, signed, and, in some cases, shredded. The bulb popping had been quite a nice five minute break for him, so that in itself showed how he was suffering. But, refusing to moan, Randall picked up a red pen, matching the colour of his eyes at that moment in time, and continued with his work.
“Oh, come on, Randall. I mean, seriously. You’re just gonna do all of this paperwork, half of which isn’t even YOURS, and you’re not gonna say anything about it to Fungus, or Roz, or even Waternoose? What a wimp.”
“Shut up, I gotta get on with this.”
“You could at least ask Fungus to do some.”
“He’s ill. You know that.”
“And when you were ill, there was Fungus to the rescue, superhero Fungus with his pants on the outside of his trousers, professor Fungus, mon with all the solutions to all of your problems, best friend in the entire world!”
“Better friend than you.”
“Oooh, that hurt. You’re sharp, man. Real sharp.”
Silence. Randall flicked over a sheet of paper, rubbing one of his eyes slowly.
“And now you’re just gonna be a boring old sod, aren’t you, Randall? You’re just gonna be a good little boy, doing his homework like his Mummy and Daddy told him to, so you can get-“
The phone rang, and Randall praised it, completely forgetting the time. He picked it up and listened intently. His mouth slowly opened.
“Oh, jeez…” Rubbing the scales between his eyes with a thumb, Randall felt the depression settling into his stomach and making home. He didn’t particularly like the pink curtains, though it was actually quite a surprise that he didn’t share depression’s taste. After the rapid babbling down the phone had eased off, Randall managed to contribute into this otherwise one-way conversation. “I’ll visit tomorrow. I will.” Absent-mindedly, he continued, “No, work won’t be a problem. I’ll call in sick or something- I’m owed a few personal days anyway. Yeah, I…” Another minute or so of babbling. “Sure, just…T-tell him I’m coming, all right? As soon as I can, as soon as I can. Thanks.” He put the phone down.
“Woah, sounds like Fungus is on his way out, th-“
“Oh, SHUT UP ALREADY!” Randall buried his face in his hands, leant against the wall behind him, and gradually slid down it, his sore scales prickling with pain.
Five minutes later, he got up, and proceeded to dial the number for Monsters, Inc. Halfway through doing so, the fact that it was now half past one in the morning, according to the clock on his desk, slapped him round the face like a wet fish.
Fungus’s mother must have been really concerned to call at such a time…
“There’s no point having a heart if no-one’s gonna notice, Randall.” The voice was right, Randall had to admit, but it was a hard truth to accept.
“H-he needs me, though…He really needs me…”
“Or is it the other way around?”
Randall took a moment to clear his head, and then shuffled his way to the bedroom. What he was doing was sensible- he’d sleep until MI’s reception would open so he could call, tell Celia he would need a few days off, and then go and see Fungus. Somehow. Sure, he didn’t have a car, but he could chip at his savings and get a train ride, or a taxi. Or something.
Yeah, that’s what he would do. A train, probably. Just get the train. Maybe he could check the radio in the morning to find out about delays…That’s it…All sorted out…
He fell asleep promptly, and for once, the little voice in his head had decided that what he was doing was, well, right.
~*~*~
“Dammit, dammit, dammit!” Randall rushed around his apartment at full speed. “Stupid broken alarm clock…Doesn’t even know how to do the one SINGLE THING IT WAS MADE FOR!”
“At this moment in time, it would be nice, Randall, if you could just re-lax. I gotta admit it, Fungus needs you, but he doesn’t need a psycho maniac whose past time is shouting at alarm clocks to pop up on his door step, does he?”
“Yeah…yeah…” So he stepped into the bathroom, and for a few seconds, he stood and stared at his reflection in the mirror. Being still slightly pink from the decontamination the previous day, Randall’s scales gave him the impression of a sort of slightly bleeding, burnt and very vulnerable animal, so he decided the easiest way to solve this problem was to simply shift his scale colour back to normal.
Easier said than done.
In the end, the pain was just too much, and Randall got on with packing for the trip north.
“Damn those idiotic CDA zombies…Bet they don’t even know what’s in that acid…”
Ten minutes later, he was ready and packed. He had called M.I. the moment he had awoken (that is, after venting his frustration out on that stupid alarm clock) and the phone lines were as busy as Main Street at rush hour, so Randall was due to try again. He picked up the receiver, dialled the number he knew so well, and tensed up incredibly.
‘Thank you for calling Monsters, Incorporated. Your call means a lot to us, and our receptionists will be with you as soon as possible…’
“Great. Just great.” Randall dragged his suitcase out of his bedroom, relatively pleased to know that it wasn’t as heavy as expected, and grasped at the front door. He would nip into M.I. on the way to the bank, and once he had withdrawn some money, he would go to the train station. The idea of taking a personal few days being denied never crossed Randall’s maze of a mind, and why should it? He was determined, and, at that moment, had certifiable tunnel vision.
Catching a glimpse of the time as he shut the door, a wave of panic arose in Randall. The train was leaving in ten minutes.
And damn. The funeral. His sister’s funeral, to be exact. In three days time. So, he’d have to be back for that.
Randall practically scoffed at the fact that he hadn’t had time to mourn. It was tough, but he could make it. Sure he could.
He paused for second, halfway through lugging his suitcase down the stairs. The image of his beautiful, adoring sister appeared in his mind, and the barriers that he had built up through years of being bullied and hurt and killed came crashing down. He wanted to cry. Not that he was ever gonna, of course not. Even though there was no-one there, watching him. Even though no-one could actually make fun him at that point. And who would?
Who would make fun of a guy who was crying over his sister’s death?
But he wasn’t. Not a single tear. Of course not. Never.
So, out the front door, into the cold, bustling streets of Monstropolis. The market traders were all ready for a busy day ahead, the stalls set up in the weak morning sun of winter. Their cheery faces and voices full of life made Randall sick to his stomach. He began to jog, time pushing him to his limits. Shoving people out of his way, Randall set his face to serious.
One more road to cross, and he’d be there. Tell Celia where he was going. Get to the bank, then the train station. Simple and easy.
Sure.
~*~*~
“Come on Mike, we’re gonna be late!” Mike grinned, his opportunity having arisen. He advertised his car in a voice fit for a range of cheesy yet amazingly convincing commercials, enjoying every moment and knowing the outcome even before he started.
“Well, why don’t we take the car? We’d get there on time and we wouldn’t have to walk in the…the bitter cold of the winter wind, so you’d be in top shape and-“
“Okay, Mike, just go and get the keys!” Sulley picked up his lunch, along with Mike’s, and opened the door, letting his best friend whoosh through it enthusiastically. Mike galloped down the stairs, burst through the main door, and gently pushed the car key into its slot. His pride and joy. Boy, had he worked hard for it, and boy, did he deserve it.
Sulley stepped into the car in the passenger side, ever so slightly resentful. Curving his back to be able to physically fit inside the car, he squirmed uncomfortably, and stopped only when Mike gave him one of his infamous fierce glares.
“I told ya this car was worth it, Sul, didn’t I? Huh? I did, didn’t I?”
“Just drive, Mike.”
“No worries, Sul- this beauty can do thirty miles to the galleon-“
“Mike, we’re late enough as it is! Go!”
“Okay, alright, jeez. Someone got up on the wrong side of the mattress this morning…” Mike muttered under his breath. But any little spats he had had this morning were soon drowned out by his car’s engine. “Boy, this feels good! Huh, Sul, huh?”
Everyone has a point where they have reached the last straw, or have had it up to ‘here’ with something, or just can’t take it any more without actually mentioning their thoughts and feelings to somebody. And Sulley had reached that point in his life. He was only going to a few times, as his personality was quite subdued to say the least, but when Mike had bought that car, and those CDs and stereo and all of the fancy high-tech stuff that he demanded, Sulley was hurt by it. And as Mike was his best friend, he thought it fair that he should say something. Or shout, as the case may be.
“Mike, I’m tired of hearing about your car! Why can’t I buy something fancy for once, rather than spending all of my own wages on BILLS?!”
“What are you talking about, Sul? You never want any of that kind of stuff, and I’ve worked hard for what I’ve got! What are you saying Sul, huh? That you think I don’t deserve any of that stuff, is THAT it?”
“No, Mike, what I’m trying to say is…Mike, WATCH OUT!”
Mike slammed on the brakes, but he was a second too late. The two friends were thrown forward as a loud bump came from in front of them. They had hit something.
Or rather, someone.
The two of them sat there, almost gasping for breath, in deep, deep shock.
“I-I didn’t hit anyone, d-did I Sul? ‘Course I didn’t hit anyone, ‘course…”
“Be quiet, Mike. Just be quiet.”
Sulley, having caught his breath, slowly opened the car door and got out. The first thing he saw was a suitcase with jumpers and hats and scarves strewn about all over the place. He turned around the front of the car to see something a lot worse.
There wasn’t too much blood, admittedly, but Randall wasn’t exactly in the best state possible.
Yeah, so this was basically written on a whim, without much thought or consideration. Sorry about that. ;D
'Easier Said Than Done', Part 1
The Scareboard leered almost menacingly above the monsters below, most of which were hardly taking notice of it. Why would such a thing matter to someone who would never be able to see their name at its top, with a hefty number next to it, just because they didn’t have the talent?
But for those who were a lot closer to fame and glory, it was all that mattered. Randall had been second for several months now, and the idea of a new day bringing new numbers and new hope was getting a little worn. That morning, out of the eight doors that he had rushed through, three had had to be shredded. Maybe Randall had just been a bit unfortunate- it was a known fact that humans were getting a lot harder to scare, so when they didn’t produce any screams, it wasn’t ever going to be a massive surprise.
Though there was, admittedly, something a little…discouraging about the idea of not being able to do the one thing that, in Randall’s case, he was practically born to do. He therefore got quite stressed about it, and, when in the Monster World, glanced at the Scareboard every other second. Sulley, Randall’s only superior, was always one step ahead of him, it seemed, but now the distance had grown to two, three steps.
Randall took a deep breath before plunging into his next door. All of this worrying was completely unnecessary, he convinced himself. Completely and utterly unnecessary.
The room was swathed in darkness, the air stuffy and compacted within the small space. There were no windows, and the walls seemed to be made out of a very solid, bumpy material. The child lay curled up on a mat in the centre of the room, wearing nothing.
Randall, for the first time in years, entered a room with an air of uncertainty. It had been Waternoose’s own words that a Scarer needed to be ‘tough’ and ‘courageous’, yet these things seemed a million miles away from Randall’s state of mind. He crept in, did the usual scurrying about, and found himself in the traditional ‘loom over the child with a threatening stance’ position. The person in his head shrugged, doubtful that this was going to work, yet curious nonetheless.
And so he growled and sneered and bared his lovely, shiny teeth, and he waited and waited.
And so the child slowly opened his eyes and sat up, and almost smiled. He lifted a tattooed arm up, raising his index finger as though he was acting out that well-known scene from E.T.
Randall wasn’t even shocked any more. He lowered his arms and folded them, backing away just enough so he was out of reach of the child’s homing finger. Then, he proceeded to do something no other Scarer, with the exception of one, would ever dare to do.
He spoke.
“You couldn’t do me a favour, could ya?” A bemused expression came across the kid’s face. “Just scream. Y’know, like ‘aargh’, but a bit louder. Just for a second or two.” After a few moments of silence, Randall sighed, figuring that this child obviously didn’t understand, and turned to the rug door.
In the next second, the child had leapt with the agility of a large cat, grasping onto Randall’s torso and grinning quite manically. The boy shouted out in a language unknown.
Obviously, the whole thing had come as a shock to Randall, and his first reaction was to just push away the child. The person in his head had that smug ‘I told you so’ expression, and wasn’t helping very much.
Struggling with the force of the child’s grip, Randall fell backwards, groping for the rug door as the world swung about. He crashed through it, his head slamming onto the ground quite sharply.
If another Scarer had been in Randall’s shoes, the first thing they would be concerned about was the idea of the child’s germs infecting him and eventually killing him. In Randall’s case, he was considerably more concerned about the fact that there were people watching him, and also that his beautiful, untarnished record of zero decontaminations looked to be endangered.
Time for a little action.
Randall somehow got to his feet, the child still clinging onto him and still shouting out some very obscure syllables, and grabbed it quite roughly, shoving it back through into its own world. He…’closed’ the rug, stabbed at the buttons on the console, and sent the door-frame away.
Everyone stared, quite gripped by the action. Mike, of course, smiled, inhaled deeply, and shouted out “34-18! We got a 34-18!” This was the code for human contact to a monster, and no-one could deny what had just happened. Everyone had witnessed it.
Randall shut his eyes ever so slowly. This meant decontamination, yes, and as the alarm blared, his grim face was projected on the screens above him. He wanted recognition, sure, but not this kind of recognition. Mentally and physically exhausted, he stood, waiting for the legendary CDA to come to the rescue. Running away from this would be pretty suspicious, and Randall didn’t need that either, especially with what he was involved with at that time- the Scream Extractor, amongst other things.
Two CDA agents dropped by him, one at each side, and they clawed at his arms, holding him still. The speaker above blasted out commands, telling Randall not to move and to just let the CDA do their job. But he’d had enough.
Waternoose stood, watching.
Randall looked over at him, waiting.
But the weary lizard-monster knew nothing was going to happen. Not yet, at least. No-one would come to his defence, no-one would help him, no-one would have the least bit of simple common SENSE to realise that humans weren’t toxic, or that any of the other crap that the Monsters were force-fed from the second that they were born was completely unrealistic. Lies, lies, and more lies.
And it was hard for Randall. There were times when he wished that he didn’t know the truth about Humans; that he believed like everyone else, just to make it easier.
He almost swung at one of those dim-witted CDA agents.
It was all building up, and he couldn’t let it out.
~*~*~
The light-bulb popped. Randall got up and felt his way to the kitchen, wincing at every step- the decontamination process had been pretty painful to say the least. The curtains were all drawn in the apartment, but it was pretty dark anyway- the sun hadn’t risen yet, as it was only one o’ clock in the morning. Randall opened a cupboard and took out the last bulb off one of the shelves, making a note to himself to buy a few more the next time he was to go shopping. He made his way back to his makeshift desk, unscrewed the bulb that had popped from his desk lamp (after having burnt his fingers), and screwed the new one in.
He switched the lamp on reluctantly, revealing a massive pile of paperwork begging to be ticked, crossed, signed, and, in some cases, shredded. The bulb popping had been quite a nice five minute break for him, so that in itself showed how he was suffering. But, refusing to moan, Randall picked up a red pen, matching the colour of his eyes at that moment in time, and continued with his work.
“Oh, come on, Randall. I mean, seriously. You’re just gonna do all of this paperwork, half of which isn’t even YOURS, and you’re not gonna say anything about it to Fungus, or Roz, or even Waternoose? What a wimp.”
“Shut up, I gotta get on with this.”
“You could at least ask Fungus to do some.”
“He’s ill. You know that.”
“And when you were ill, there was Fungus to the rescue, superhero Fungus with his pants on the outside of his trousers, professor Fungus, mon with all the solutions to all of your problems, best friend in the entire world!”
“Better friend than you.”
“Oooh, that hurt. You’re sharp, man. Real sharp.”
Silence. Randall flicked over a sheet of paper, rubbing one of his eyes slowly.
“And now you’re just gonna be a boring old sod, aren’t you, Randall? You’re just gonna be a good little boy, doing his homework like his Mummy and Daddy told him to, so you can get-“
The phone rang, and Randall praised it, completely forgetting the time. He picked it up and listened intently. His mouth slowly opened.
“Oh, jeez…” Rubbing the scales between his eyes with a thumb, Randall felt the depression settling into his stomach and making home. He didn’t particularly like the pink curtains, though it was actually quite a surprise that he didn’t share depression’s taste. After the rapid babbling down the phone had eased off, Randall managed to contribute into this otherwise one-way conversation. “I’ll visit tomorrow. I will.” Absent-mindedly, he continued, “No, work won’t be a problem. I’ll call in sick or something- I’m owed a few personal days anyway. Yeah, I…” Another minute or so of babbling. “Sure, just…T-tell him I’m coming, all right? As soon as I can, as soon as I can. Thanks.” He put the phone down.
“Woah, sounds like Fungus is on his way out, th-“
“Oh, SHUT UP ALREADY!” Randall buried his face in his hands, leant against the wall behind him, and gradually slid down it, his sore scales prickling with pain.
Five minutes later, he got up, and proceeded to dial the number for Monsters, Inc. Halfway through doing so, the fact that it was now half past one in the morning, according to the clock on his desk, slapped him round the face like a wet fish.
Fungus’s mother must have been really concerned to call at such a time…
“There’s no point having a heart if no-one’s gonna notice, Randall.” The voice was right, Randall had to admit, but it was a hard truth to accept.
“H-he needs me, though…He really needs me…”
“Or is it the other way around?”
Randall took a moment to clear his head, and then shuffled his way to the bedroom. What he was doing was sensible- he’d sleep until MI’s reception would open so he could call, tell Celia he would need a few days off, and then go and see Fungus. Somehow. Sure, he didn’t have a car, but he could chip at his savings and get a train ride, or a taxi. Or something.
Yeah, that’s what he would do. A train, probably. Just get the train. Maybe he could check the radio in the morning to find out about delays…That’s it…All sorted out…
He fell asleep promptly, and for once, the little voice in his head had decided that what he was doing was, well, right.
~*~*~
“Dammit, dammit, dammit!” Randall rushed around his apartment at full speed. “Stupid broken alarm clock…Doesn’t even know how to do the one SINGLE THING IT WAS MADE FOR!”
“At this moment in time, it would be nice, Randall, if you could just re-lax. I gotta admit it, Fungus needs you, but he doesn’t need a psycho maniac whose past time is shouting at alarm clocks to pop up on his door step, does he?”
“Yeah…yeah…” So he stepped into the bathroom, and for a few seconds, he stood and stared at his reflection in the mirror. Being still slightly pink from the decontamination the previous day, Randall’s scales gave him the impression of a sort of slightly bleeding, burnt and very vulnerable animal, so he decided the easiest way to solve this problem was to simply shift his scale colour back to normal.
Easier said than done.
In the end, the pain was just too much, and Randall got on with packing for the trip north.
“Damn those idiotic CDA zombies…Bet they don’t even know what’s in that acid…”
Ten minutes later, he was ready and packed. He had called M.I. the moment he had awoken (that is, after venting his frustration out on that stupid alarm clock) and the phone lines were as busy as Main Street at rush hour, so Randall was due to try again. He picked up the receiver, dialled the number he knew so well, and tensed up incredibly.
‘Thank you for calling Monsters, Incorporated. Your call means a lot to us, and our receptionists will be with you as soon as possible…’
“Great. Just great.” Randall dragged his suitcase out of his bedroom, relatively pleased to know that it wasn’t as heavy as expected, and grasped at the front door. He would nip into M.I. on the way to the bank, and once he had withdrawn some money, he would go to the train station. The idea of taking a personal few days being denied never crossed Randall’s maze of a mind, and why should it? He was determined, and, at that moment, had certifiable tunnel vision.
Catching a glimpse of the time as he shut the door, a wave of panic arose in Randall. The train was leaving in ten minutes.
And damn. The funeral. His sister’s funeral, to be exact. In three days time. So, he’d have to be back for that.
Randall practically scoffed at the fact that he hadn’t had time to mourn. It was tough, but he could make it. Sure he could.
He paused for second, halfway through lugging his suitcase down the stairs. The image of his beautiful, adoring sister appeared in his mind, and the barriers that he had built up through years of being bullied and hurt and killed came crashing down. He wanted to cry. Not that he was ever gonna, of course not. Even though there was no-one there, watching him. Even though no-one could actually make fun him at that point. And who would?
Who would make fun of a guy who was crying over his sister’s death?
But he wasn’t. Not a single tear. Of course not. Never.
So, out the front door, into the cold, bustling streets of Monstropolis. The market traders were all ready for a busy day ahead, the stalls set up in the weak morning sun of winter. Their cheery faces and voices full of life made Randall sick to his stomach. He began to jog, time pushing him to his limits. Shoving people out of his way, Randall set his face to serious.
One more road to cross, and he’d be there. Tell Celia where he was going. Get to the bank, then the train station. Simple and easy.
Sure.
~*~*~
“Come on Mike, we’re gonna be late!” Mike grinned, his opportunity having arisen. He advertised his car in a voice fit for a range of cheesy yet amazingly convincing commercials, enjoying every moment and knowing the outcome even before he started.
“Well, why don’t we take the car? We’d get there on time and we wouldn’t have to walk in the…the bitter cold of the winter wind, so you’d be in top shape and-“
“Okay, Mike, just go and get the keys!” Sulley picked up his lunch, along with Mike’s, and opened the door, letting his best friend whoosh through it enthusiastically. Mike galloped down the stairs, burst through the main door, and gently pushed the car key into its slot. His pride and joy. Boy, had he worked hard for it, and boy, did he deserve it.
Sulley stepped into the car in the passenger side, ever so slightly resentful. Curving his back to be able to physically fit inside the car, he squirmed uncomfortably, and stopped only when Mike gave him one of his infamous fierce glares.
“I told ya this car was worth it, Sul, didn’t I? Huh? I did, didn’t I?”
“Just drive, Mike.”
“No worries, Sul- this beauty can do thirty miles to the galleon-“
“Mike, we’re late enough as it is! Go!”
“Okay, alright, jeez. Someone got up on the wrong side of the mattress this morning…” Mike muttered under his breath. But any little spats he had had this morning were soon drowned out by his car’s engine. “Boy, this feels good! Huh, Sul, huh?”
Everyone has a point where they have reached the last straw, or have had it up to ‘here’ with something, or just can’t take it any more without actually mentioning their thoughts and feelings to somebody. And Sulley had reached that point in his life. He was only going to a few times, as his personality was quite subdued to say the least, but when Mike had bought that car, and those CDs and stereo and all of the fancy high-tech stuff that he demanded, Sulley was hurt by it. And as Mike was his best friend, he thought it fair that he should say something. Or shout, as the case may be.
“Mike, I’m tired of hearing about your car! Why can’t I buy something fancy for once, rather than spending all of my own wages on BILLS?!”
“What are you talking about, Sul? You never want any of that kind of stuff, and I’ve worked hard for what I’ve got! What are you saying Sul, huh? That you think I don’t deserve any of that stuff, is THAT it?”
“No, Mike, what I’m trying to say is…Mike, WATCH OUT!”
Mike slammed on the brakes, but he was a second too late. The two friends were thrown forward as a loud bump came from in front of them. They had hit something.
Or rather, someone.
The two of them sat there, almost gasping for breath, in deep, deep shock.
“I-I didn’t hit anyone, d-did I Sul? ‘Course I didn’t hit anyone, ‘course…”
“Be quiet, Mike. Just be quiet.”
Sulley, having caught his breath, slowly opened the car door and got out. The first thing he saw was a suitcase with jumpers and hats and scarves strewn about all over the place. He turned around the front of the car to see something a lot worse.
There wasn’t too much blood, admittedly, but Randall wasn’t exactly in the best state possible.