Post by perpetuallytired on Jan 30, 2011 0:01:43 GMT -5
Fred's grisly, horrifying encounter with Kikko-Man had shaken his nerves. Despite the carnage and despair that he encountered, Fred had taken a liking to the screwball nature of Tokyo these days. The villains here were often cruel, but eccentric. So in the largely abandoned parts of the city Fred considered home, it was easy to see his battles as a kind of overblown wrestling match. But not anymore.
He cleared out of the Movie Gallery HQ, hauling his over- sized couch and half-broken 100 inch television back to the Hornet's Marsh, carrying the cumbersome furniture on his back.
Hornet's Marsh was an odd area, mostly separated from the rest of Tokyo even before the destruction had reigned down. There was only a single footbridge connecting the marsh to the city beforehand, but when the first firebombs had struck the bridge had been incinerated, and the wet, inhospitable nature of the marsh virtually assured that he would be left alone.
Fred landed in a small clearing in the middle of the marsh, a tranquil, semi-solid patch of thick red grass and weeds, surrounded by murky waters on all sides. He didn't mind the wet; after all, this is where Fred had spent some of his youth. The highlands of Scotland would always be his true home, but his brief time in Tokyo in the 1930s had endeared him to the city in general, and this marsh in particular.
He let the couch slip off his back and watched as it began to bob in the water. He then set the TV on the driest patch of land he could find, and sat down, listening to the couch (originally sold to obese American tourists) strain under his massive weight. Fred's tail slumped over the rest of the couch. He sat like this for some time, staring at the blank screen out of habit. But truly, his focus was on the soothing sounds of nature--the queer hiccuping of frogs mutated by decades of radiation exposure, the soft flapping of birds clustered on the other end of the marsh. Their graceful, careful approach to flight was so different from his, and he envied them.
Fred's eyes were just beginning to close when a loud scream cut through the tranquility. His lids snapped open and he scanned his surroundings. He didn't have to look for long, though-- a terribly thin woman suddenly burst through the tall red grass and splashed into the water with all the force of a bundle of paper bags.
"Please leave," Fred rumbled as soon as the woman looked up. "Whatever your issue is, I want no part."
"That is not..." the woman spat out a mouthful of grey water, "...what you said before."
"What...?" Fred leaned closer and examined the woman.
"Sana." The woman he had saved from Ra-Man behind the Thai restaurant. That felt like it had happened months ago.
Sana held her hands out. "Please, you said that if you ever needed help, that I could find you here. I have been looking for you for...some time now. I need your help." She lowered her voice. "There is a thing, chasing after me. An awful little creature. It won't leave the little camp I have made for myself here."
Fred sighed and got off the couch. "I wasn't watching anything good, anyhow."
***
Sana's camp was simple and elegant; a single tent, a pile of sticks good enough for a small fire. But inside her tent was an ugly wombat wearing, as best he could, her thick orange boots.
"He has my boots," Sana said. "And he won't give them back. Take care of him and I will return the favor."
Fred sighed again. He wasn't in the mood for a battle. However, the wombat was. As soon as he saw Fred he lept out of the tent.
"I've heaaaaaaarrrrrrdddddddddd of yoooooooouuuuuuu" the wombat shrieked as he launched at Fred, claws outstretched.
Fred channeled all of the fury and rage that had built up inside of him since the Kikko Man incident into one glorious stream of flame that sent the wombat back to the ground. He went scurrying off, screeching all the while. The orange boots slipped off as he ran, but the wombat didn't look back.
"Good thing they were fireproof," Sana said.
For the first time in days, Fred laughed.
He cleared out of the Movie Gallery HQ, hauling his over- sized couch and half-broken 100 inch television back to the Hornet's Marsh, carrying the cumbersome furniture on his back.
Hornet's Marsh was an odd area, mostly separated from the rest of Tokyo even before the destruction had reigned down. There was only a single footbridge connecting the marsh to the city beforehand, but when the first firebombs had struck the bridge had been incinerated, and the wet, inhospitable nature of the marsh virtually assured that he would be left alone.
Fred landed in a small clearing in the middle of the marsh, a tranquil, semi-solid patch of thick red grass and weeds, surrounded by murky waters on all sides. He didn't mind the wet; after all, this is where Fred had spent some of his youth. The highlands of Scotland would always be his true home, but his brief time in Tokyo in the 1930s had endeared him to the city in general, and this marsh in particular.
He let the couch slip off his back and watched as it began to bob in the water. He then set the TV on the driest patch of land he could find, and sat down, listening to the couch (originally sold to obese American tourists) strain under his massive weight. Fred's tail slumped over the rest of the couch. He sat like this for some time, staring at the blank screen out of habit. But truly, his focus was on the soothing sounds of nature--the queer hiccuping of frogs mutated by decades of radiation exposure, the soft flapping of birds clustered on the other end of the marsh. Their graceful, careful approach to flight was so different from his, and he envied them.
Fred's eyes were just beginning to close when a loud scream cut through the tranquility. His lids snapped open and he scanned his surroundings. He didn't have to look for long, though-- a terribly thin woman suddenly burst through the tall red grass and splashed into the water with all the force of a bundle of paper bags.
"Please leave," Fred rumbled as soon as the woman looked up. "Whatever your issue is, I want no part."
"That is not..." the woman spat out a mouthful of grey water, "...what you said before."
"What...?" Fred leaned closer and examined the woman.
"Sana." The woman he had saved from Ra-Man behind the Thai restaurant. That felt like it had happened months ago.
Sana held her hands out. "Please, you said that if you ever needed help, that I could find you here. I have been looking for you for...some time now. I need your help." She lowered her voice. "There is a thing, chasing after me. An awful little creature. It won't leave the little camp I have made for myself here."
Fred sighed and got off the couch. "I wasn't watching anything good, anyhow."
***
Sana's camp was simple and elegant; a single tent, a pile of sticks good enough for a small fire. But inside her tent was an ugly wombat wearing, as best he could, her thick orange boots.
"He has my boots," Sana said. "And he won't give them back. Take care of him and I will return the favor."
Fred sighed again. He wasn't in the mood for a battle. However, the wombat was. As soon as he saw Fred he lept out of the tent.
"I've heaaaaaaarrrrrrdddddddddd of yoooooooouuuuuuu" the wombat shrieked as he launched at Fred, claws outstretched.
Fred channeled all of the fury and rage that had built up inside of him since the Kikko Man incident into one glorious stream of flame that sent the wombat back to the ground. He went scurrying off, screeching all the while. The orange boots slipped off as he ran, but the wombat didn't look back.
"Good thing they were fireproof," Sana said.
For the first time in days, Fred laughed.
