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Undertow	By : pronker Category: +M through R > Penguins of Madagascar Views: 11341 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I make no profit from this fanfiction set in Dreamworks' Penguins of Madagascar franchise. I do not own its characters, basic premise or settings.

Chapter List
- 1-1/?
- 2-2/?
- 3-3/?
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- 110-110/112
- 111-111/112
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- 12
- 13
- 14
"Relaaax, maaan. Let it flow easy into your gut, like mornin' caaaffee and beercan and aiggs." Frances assessed the fifty year-old bus driver who had just gotten off duty. He patted the mechanical horse's palomino head as his grin widened.
"Heavens to Betsey, it's just like the old one at the A & P forty years ago. I was happy then."
Part of Frances rolled her eyes at the self disclosure, the filthy-animal hating, ambition loving part, the nasty part who had lived underneath Zookeeper Frances' ultra squeaky clean hide. She observed the man's jacket, which was festooned with merit buttons and 'best driver of 2002' awards. A company man, then. Solid. Dependable. Solvent. Miss Cleo took over. "I'm readin' you like a A & P romance novel, maaaan. You had a happy childhood, yes?"
The driver patted the faded mane. "Aw yeah." He pulled back his hand as the blissful look fled. "Hey, how did you know that?" Typical Manhattan skepticism flavored his words. "You fakin' me out?"
Now that she had faith, it was easier to take his hand and look deeply into his wary face. "Eeeeasy, maaan." His driver's glove was kid leather, soft and supple against her palm. "You collected Matchbox cars as a bye, am I right?" This part was easy. Of course, his age group told her that it was likely he did play with the toy cars as a boy. A guy like this who became a professional driver probably got sentimental at the mere name. Look, his pupils dilated in happiness and his pulse jumped. She squeezed his hand in both of hers, gauging his excitement level as easily as she had read her zoo animals' moods by the way their tails flagged up high or drooped to the dust that she would vacuum away whenever she first noticed it.
"Y-Yeah!" He cleared his throat. "Yes. I had the whole run of 'em, too. I had a little blue case --- "
"I know. It was your pride and jye."
"Right. Then Mom put it out in a yard sale when I turned thirteen."
Frances channeled Miss Cleo's warmth and wisdom. "Leave the past behind and call me now."
"Call?"
"Call me Miss Frances."
"Uh, okay, Miss Frances."
Frances grinned broadly. "Yeah, I see you as a bye. You're standin' behind you. You have a huuuuge smile over your braces." She stared above the driver's left shoulder fixedly.
The man jumped to look behind and then caught himself. "I-I'm not sure I want you to do that, lady --- "
" --- and the bye is now a man who wants to ride this pony."
He laughed as much as anyone in the crowd did. "Well, sure I do, but not literally."
I've got you, I've got you, thought Frances. "So do it in your soul."
He faltered. "Huh?"
"Clooooose your eyes, climb aboard and ride."
He looked around at the thirty-two faces surrounding him, some slack jawed with wonder, some jeering. He squared his shoulders. "Okay, I'll do it. I can take a joke." He winked at his onlookers. "There's a two drink minimum and a cover charge for all this entertainment, folks!" The crowd warmed to him. His uniform showed an average build at middle age. His belly pouched out as he swung a leg over the motionless metal horse to settle into the saddle; he fit part of his butt into the seat and the rest perched on the cantle. Naturally the proportions of adult-man to child-sized-horse were all wrong, but as Frances wove her spell, she called on Oshosi to guide the man's spirit into simple joys of childhood via the horse. As friendly as Oshosi was with animals, he would look favorably on her wishes. She would work out a payment of sacrifice later; Santeria was most forgiving as to the timing of sacrifices, as long as they were done eventually.
Even the jeering faces evened out into something like acceptance and encouragement as the man braved looking silly. The metal horse's active days were decades behind it and Frances wouldn't have it any other way, because she dealt in dreams discovered and uncovered and not in real-life carnival rides with their mechanical problems and endless maintenance. The man jogged his hips and played as he used to on the immobile horse; he laughed in joy as the crowd joined in to laugh with him and not at him.
Frances allowed ten minutes for the imaginary, restorative ride before ending the dream and shaping reality into what she needed from him. "Gollleeee, gosh. Good glory, Miss Frances, this is great!" Some of the crowd drifted to the next ride on her circuit, a mermaid with an improbable saddle on her back as she swished her tail, or would if she were in working order.
Frances called on Oshosi to magnify her voice to her customers. "Pay at the exit, whatever y'all theeenk it is worth." This one had a steady job and would pay well, she was certain. Years of experience as a zoo official honed her people sense regarding clothing, attitude and willingness to shell out for experiences rather than the goods and services. She turned away from the man in confidence.
Today was a good day. And when it was done, her room awaited her with rest and no Jeff to tiptoe by, because he was working late at the museum tonight for the Boy Scouts sleepover. A quick meal on the hot plate, knock back a cold one and then think how she would pay Oshosi. Some incense would help.
Life itself was good.
At the exit, she expanded her persona to thank each visitor, gather her cash, and close up for the day. A well-dressed lady lingered to speak with her after the other guests departed. The fresh and direct voice spoke with a strong Zimbabwe accent, or perhaps it was Zambian. "Good evening, Miss Frances. I am Akili Wangai-McSlade. I enjoyed your reading. Do you have the time for a chat?"
Just like that, life was not quite as good. Frances elbowed aside Miss Cleo's persona and invoked her ori as she faced her past head on.
"I'm off work."
"A minute, please?"
The lady had charm and she dressed as formally as Frances used to when attending various schmoozing receptions. Frances was guarded.
"Very well."
As the crowd dispersed, Frances appraised the lady. Of course, she knew from the newspapers that McSlade married Wangai right before he visited Hoboken Zoo on that never to be forgotten day, which flipped her life end over end. No more relatively-high living, no more apartment, no more stilettos: the differences did not end there. For a moment, she saw red. McSlade fired her after her stellar performance, all because she scrubbed the zoo to perfection in both its habitats and their, um, inhabitants. Bio-Android animal replacements had been her cleaning tool of choice, well, the Commissioner didn't agree. An obnoxious animal in the shape of a penguin had been the instrument of her downfall.
Akili's face turned serious. "You know who I am, so let us not beat about the bush. Pervis can be impetuous, can he not?" The bemused half-smile was that of the newly married and indulgent spouse. It carried hints of off-duty portly Commissioners and possible indulgences with trim dark-skinned wives that Frances avoided thinking about.
Frances didn't bother hiding her frown. "What do you want from me?"
No chitchat, because life had changed her and she went with the flow as Santeria proposed. This meeting was only a ripple on a backwash of the river of Life.
Akili appraised Frances, too. "Your hair is the bright color of a little green bee eater from my country. I like it." She unbent a trifle. "I am a veldt specialist from Lusaka. Pervis and I met when he was on sabbatical from uni and years passed before we met again. It was magical!"
Okay, she was from Zambia, for sure, but gads, talking about hair and clothes and relationships, how girly could you get? "I am familiar with the species of bird."
Akili didn't miss a beat. "Then you know they remove the sting from the bee before ingesting it by hitting the insect against a hard surface again and again. I think you have been hit, Miss Frances. I offer a better life than perhaps making this" --- she gestured with a white-gloved hand at the rusting metal exhibits atop plain dirt in Frances' legacy from her mother --- "your permanent pozzie. Pervis says you have organizational expertise that should not be wasted, even though you cocked up --- oh, Akili, you chop. You know what I mean, Ms. Alberta."
A secret fear was that she would fail one day to make the rent on her room and Jeff would not hesitate to ditch her and her belongings into the street after fourteen days. Frances grit her teeth before replying. "That's nice of you. Tell the Commissioner I decline. I am doing well enough, Mrs. McSlade."
"Wangai-McSlade."
"Sure." Frances considered one-upping as she used to do often in board meetings. "Do you offer an apology?"
Akili lowered her gaze. "I do not. I agree with Pervis about the termination because animals are no dirtier than we humans are. If you wish to continue making only a living wage entertaining the gullible, that is your affair."
The offer had been kindly enough, even if Akili rubbed her the wrong way in her neat hairdo and natural fibers suit. Frances took the high ground. "I thank you and possibly him all the same. I am healthy, happy, and paying the bills, so what else matters?"
"As you wish." Frances blinked as she tried to remember where she had heard that phrase before.
The woman withdrew gracefully, but stumbled a little in her Gucci pumps over the pile of cut copper tubing by the exit. The tubing lengths awaited further shaping into Frances' latest project of "something regarding kiddies," she wasn't sure what it would be yet. As she donned her jacket and patted the coins and bills in its pocket, Frances headed home to seek inspiration from Oshosi and possibly Yemoja.
IOIOIOIOIO
- 12
- 13
- 14
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Undertow