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Watermelon Snow
By : pronker
Category: +M through R > Penguins of Madagascar
Views: 2672 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0Disclaimer: I make no profit from this fanfiction using the Penguins of Madagascar characters owned by Dreamworks. -
Chapter List
- 1-Watermelon Snow
- 2-2/50
- 3-3/50
- 4-4/50
- 5-5/50
- 6-6/50
- 7-7/50
- 8-8/50
- 9-9/50
- 10-10/50
- 11-11/50
- 12-12/50
- 13-13/50
- 14-14/50
- 15-15/50
- 16-16/50
- 17-17/50
- 18-18/50
- 19-19/50
- 20-20/50
- 21-21/50
- 22-22/50
- 23-23/50
- 24-24/50
- 25-17-18/50 SLASH INTERLUDE BETWEEN CH. 17 AND 18. AU ON 'WATERMELON SNOW'
- 26-24A/50 SLASH VERSION OF CH. 24 FOR KICKS AND GIGGLES *** AU ***
- 27-25/50
- 28-26/50
- 29-27/50
- 30-28/50
- 31-29/50
- 32-30/50
- 33-31/50
- 34-32/50
- 35-33/50
- 36-34/50
- 37-35/50
- 38-36/50
- 39-37/50
- 40-38/50
- 41-39/50
- 42-40/50
- 43-41/50
- 44-42/50
- 45-43/50
- 46-44/50
- 47-45/50
- 48-46/50
- 49-47/50
- 50-48/50
- 51-49/50
- 52-50/51
- 53-51/51
"I caught a colossal cold, Gavina, my angel, but that was all I caught on the expedition. Our Svalbard ships, Iceland fishing boats, and Greenpeace's Rainbow Warrior are on the grid to report any more sightings of the worm or worms." Sven's corn tassel mohawk was back to shellacked splendor. He favored plaid shirts, Skipper saw, even in the formality of a Svalbard newsroom. Along with a fervor for Science as strong as Kowalski's, the Norwegian exuded manly warrior might and Skipper warmed to him.
Gavina was Sven's fellow congregant at the altar of Science on the split screen presentation. "Sven, I've rethought the conclusions you put forth. Nemerteans are carnivorous and have puncturing snouts as the fish harvester reported his lost comrade said, while snow algae-eating Plectus murrayi leaks antifreeze to enable movement in solid ice. What if a hybrid of the two species swims in Arctic seas to icebergs and congregates in enough numbers to partially melt an iceberg? What if your theory of a titanic Plectus murrayi needs tweaking to consider a giant hybrid of the two species?"
"I'll consider it as a hypothesis, Gavina. There is still the issue of how Plectus murrayi and Lineus longissimus um, got together to produce this creature or creatures, and how it got to Arctic seas in the first place." Sven sneezed into a plaid handkerchief.
Gavina simpered. "Love conquers all, Sven."
Skipper clicked on the mute button and rubbed his beak. "This bothers me and I'm damned if I know why," he muttered aloud. When Private made rustling noises, he shushed himself and returned to silence. He leaned his back against the massage table's leg as he sat stiffly upright to avoid the twinges that bending brought.
I have the best team going, thought Skipper as a commercial flashed its loud colors mutely behind him on their 52-inch television screen. He sipped a reviving mug of joe as he contemplated his enemies in the still of the night.
There had been few animals in Skipper's life who had actually wanted him dead not counting Blowhole, and that maniac wasn't in the picture this time. The cobra who had envenomated him with enough poison to kill five Central Park carriage horses had wanted him dead. Skipper rubbed his left buttock reminiscently and glanced at Rico's snoring form. Good soldier, that, always going above and beyond the call of duty.
He couldn't see Kowalski beyond Rico's bulk. Kowalski's arch enemy, The Blue Hen, hadn't particularly wanted Skipper dead, just out of the way of her schemes to rule Delaware as Senator. He snorted. Fat chance there. Delawareans were bodacious and you couldn't fool them long enough to get her past the primary. He moved on to consider fish along with reptiles and amphibians whose names he knew. The snakehead trout wanted him dead and digested, as did Savio, he supposed. Barry was an insignificant twerp who didn't care if his toxic touch killed or merely made deathly ill.
At last he regarded Private, looking cute and cuddly especially in sleep. Skipper's heartstrings twanged like Willie Nelson's guitar during the final riffs of Blue Eyes Cryin' In The Rain. Eh, onward and into the night, he thought. He commanded a great team and if only Manfredi and Johnson were here, it would be a perfect team. It was a shame to have to wake everyone, but the time was now to confront Sasquatch. He had no worries that he'd be triumphant this time. After all, his team presented a united front against her obsession with killing him and he'd never need to swim alone. This sojourn in Åland had firmed up their united purpose as nothing else had. He gave a last swirl of the sardine stir stick before swallowing it whole. Onward it was.
"Roll out! Off your dead tails and on your dying feet! Up up up!"
Private did that yawning and rubbing the eyes thing that made his commander look away. Rico exploded into action and Kowalski tumbled out of their bunk right behind him. The news feed of whatever time of day it originated from supplied motivation and action music in the wee hours of a Monday morning.
Leave it to Private to be as thorough in the middle of the night as he was when signaling all his turns while driving their souped-up penguin-sized dune buggy. He fussed about doing something until Skipper barked, "Move it move it move it! I want intel and I want it tonight! We march!"
Private looked up as he fluffed the two pillows in their shared bunk. "But Skippa, are you sure you're strong enough?"
The others whistled or got busy with nothing in particular as Skipper leveled an unbelieving stare at Private. He didn't blink for a full quarter minute.
Private looked down as he fluffed and fluffed and fluffed. "Never mind, silly question, you're always up for somethin' --- "
"Or up to something, and don't you forget it." But his commander's look was kind.
Kowalski started to place his flipper over Rico's eyes and then turned the movement into an idle wave. "No, don't bother with BlackBerries, Rico. We're not leaving Skipper alone tonight."
Skipper made an impatient noise. "Wait until we get there to supply binoculars, Rico," he said finally. "Kowalski, I'm on point, you're second."
"Of course, sir."
Private, Rico, and Kowalski boosted Skipper one-two-three over the barrier of their habitat like the covert operatives they were. Waddling along the way to the moose enclosure two habitats down the wide path, Kowalski pointed out Imelda giving her latest cub a midnight swimming lesson. The gigantic polar bear appeared a living ice floe as she stuck out a massive limb on which the cub rested his chin while he paddled to build strength. She didn't notice them until they had nearly passed by. It was good practice for them all to waddle quietly when they usually slid along as smooth as Barry did in the moss of his frog habitat. Kowalski waved a flipper to attract Imelda's attention as Skipper motioned a halt to gather intel from her, but she called out loudly before the second in command could stop her.
"HI, GUYTH! Nothing exthiting happening over there THO FAR TONIGHT!"
"Imelda! Quiet! We're in stealth mode!" Kowalski warned. "She's not used to this," he murmured to his team.
"THORRY!" Imelda pushed her cub's tail out of the water and pointed back to their den. He looked grumpy at being left out of adult matters, but he obeyed. She lumbered to the steel fence that prevailed throughout the zoo, water streaming off her. She rose to her full height then, standing on her hind legs as if to show them her worthiness in battle. To four little penguins in the moonless night, she loomed up over them to black out the few stars that twinkled through the ice haze. She dropped to all fours after her demonstration and stuck her muzzle through the bars, speaking in a stage whisper. "Thurveillanth ongoing, resultth nada. Kinda boring, Kowalthki."
Skipper presented himself. "I'm Skipper, this is Private and this is Rico. Thank you, ma'am, for your help."
Imelda looked him over with a mother's assessing eye. "You thtill look daunthy. Thtick with the group, Thkipper."
"My plan exactly." Private shrank from her flesh-shearing teeth and even Rico looked taken aback, but to Skipper or anyone else who had sprung alive from the slavering jaws of both a Snakehead Trout and his own soldier Rico in gator form, this was a literal walk in the park. "Any zoo gossip about her?"
"She'th an unthocial one, Thkipper. A real thnail in her thell." Imelda curled her lip. "I'm okay with her moving on thoon."
"She has layers like a Spanish onion, I'll give her that." Skipper didn't have the right look of fear on his face and Private's heart sank. Was his leader going to try to understand his own assassin?
Private forgot his timidity. "Imelda, beggin' your pardon, but how will you get out of your habitat if we need you right quick?"
"Like thith." Imelda withdrew her muzzle from between the bars and shoved her paws into the space. She didn't appear to strain as the bars opened from the weld on the top rail but stayed affixed at the bottom. The bars parted to form a vee shape to squeeze through. Imelda replaced them upright just as easily. She grinned and her incisors flashed even without moonlight. "Don't meth with the mama bear."
The two alphas nodded to each other, top predator mammal to top commando penguin. "I'm satisfied, Imelda. Keep things on the down low and stay sharp." Skipper motioned for his squad to move out.
From the primate house entry portico west of the moose habitat, the four set up watch on a sasquatch. After twenty minutes of surveillance, Private squeaked, "There's a badger watchin' us, I'm tellin' you!"
IOIOIOIOIO
TBC
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