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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/?
- 4-4/?
- 5-5/?
- 6-6/?
- 7-7/?
- 8-8/?
- 9-9/?
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- 110-110/112
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"Moley, it's done. Originally, I planned to make several small pieces but then I caught on fire for a mini mecha sized one! Ten feet high by five by five, what do you think?"
The moonless December night shielded Moley's mecha's comings and goings near the back of the lot farthest from the sidewalk. The seventh of the month was the nearest to the conjoined feast of Chango and Saint Barbara when she had completed her metal sculpture. Technically, Moley could not have taken part in the feast at her godmother Felicity's home on the fourth. She didn't even know that he would have enjoyed the grilled meats and veggies which she delighted in. That part of her life remained private; he would not understand, just like she didn't understand his interest in her.
What stayed important was that the cowrie shell divination months ago that proved her path into Santeria was correct for her life strengthened her resolve to become a warrior. The chicken sacrifice for her initiation might be enough as it had been for Santeria's welcoming gift of her eleke, or was a pig more appropriate for the second stage in her faith? A bush pig, for instance, like good old Potamochoerus larvatus that she had introduced into Hoboken Zoo? Rumor had it that the naturally clean animal was cleaner than even the normal domesticated sort, but turned Berserker if its young were threatened. Surely a warrior animal sacrifice like that pleased Chango? Should she stick to the familiar bird sacrifices, such as another chicken or a pigeon or a dove? Her skimpy finances suggested a dove, because digesting a dove could be no stranger than digesting a chicken. She was pulled to the present by a subsonic rumble of approval by her admirer.
Moley regarded the piece that to Frances' eyes was perfectly imperfect. "Frawnces, it's explosive."
"Explosive, eh? I like that! I think. What do you mean it's explosive?"
He wrung his hands as he worked through his thoughts but she ignored the mannerism. "I say whash I mean, I, I, feel exploded. Torn up." He blinked rapidly behind his goggles. "My word frmkl says it best." He crossed his arms and she knew him well enough to figure he was done describing his impression. That was the problem with completely unknown languages; there was no dictionary to decode them, not even Urban Dictionary.
"Frmkl, all right, I'll take that as a compliment."
"It is." He gestured to the Mrsdm. "Ride with me now?"
"In a minute. Exploding can be a good thing, right? Explode the old, gain a new start with the new moon, and all that?" Moley understood her better after these months and didn't try to answer her rhetorical question. Frances admired the way that starlight gleamed on the polished copper, rich, subdued and tinged pink if she squinted. She stroked her work; she sniffed her fingers afterward, smelling the sage smoke that had swirled around it twenty minutes ago in a cleansing ritual. Moley patted her gold-streaked hair but she ignored it as she thought hard.
Celebratory new moon sage burning? Check. Updated hairstyle? Check. State of iré with its blessing of calm? Check. Moley stepped to her side and put his arm around her as would a brother. She remained still as his calloused palm rubbed her bicep. Genderblender stood as complete as she could make it. The old saying 'the hardest part of art is knowing when to quit' rang as true as ever. It had been hard to craft a copper tubing Osterizer. "Listen, Moley, it's my idea of sexual healing."
"Whash?"
Never felt so happy and so fully alive came the bright lyrics from one of Mom's old songs. Frances laughed, not Miss Frances' hahahahaaaa but Frances The Zookeeper's girlish giggle and teehee. "I mean that being creative is better than what you have with your harem." And what I have never experienced, at least all the way, she added to herself, not wanting to encourage him to suggest a more commonplace sort of initiation. "Come on, making art satisfies and metal sculptures, um, last." She tapped the metal to make a clink.
"If Frawnces says so, it must be so."
"Why, Moley, was that humor?"
"Krpny."
"All right, don't translate that. I'm coming as soon as I find my GPS. That's human humor, by the way."
"Ozzlr."
"You don't say." Frances felt around in the travel bag she carried each time she voyaged with her friend. The Samsung cell wasn't the latest, but it represented her last big splurge of spending when she was more solvent. Her year as an initiate enriched her spiritually as it impoverished her bank account. "Ah ha, here we go. This time I'm tracking how far we travel and in what direction. I wish my phone app was a tricorder, you know, record in three dimensions never mind why am I telling you this. Star Trek looks up and you look down, and I am down with that." She caressed her lavender and yellow beaded eleke in Oyá's honor, clattered her nine copper bracelets and chanted a moyugbar as softly as a balmy breeze. Oyá's presence could be sensed, in particular around the part of Funkytown where Frances collected her admissions.
Nearly ready, nearly ready ... what next? Oh yes, the dance to ask blessings on this voyage. Frances leaped like a marionette coming to life, her toes pointed as if at the barre of childhood's ballet lessons that Mom insisted upon. Mom wouldn't know what to make of Frances now if she lived, but since she was dead Frances took it for granted that death brought universal understanding, if not approval.
Frances purchased an iruke at the feast three days ago with a large percentage of her weekly earnings. Was it responsible spending? She didn't know anymore; the black horse's tail swirled as she whipped it in circles over her head. She gripped the wrapped handle and spun it counterclockwise, reversed it and as the bristles swished through the chill night, her spirit soared wild and free. As an aboricha, each time she practiced Santeria she felt more and more certain that she must take larger steps into deeper mysteries.
Moley waited by Genderblender like the altar in Frances' room, as if he were a still material thing that required invoked spirits to make it live. Whirling and leaping, snapping the iruke, Frances entreated Oyá to enter her head. Her leggings underneath her nine-banded skirt would drip with sweat when she was through and she was down with that, too.
For obscure reasons, Oyá desired to tease Moley and so Frances spun around him and her metal creation, squawking like the chicken had before Felicity cut its throat for Frances' initiation. Since the oricha blew changes into lives whether people wanted them or not, Frances leaped higher when she spotted Eleguá, Ogun, Ochosi and Osun, the warriors four, on the edges of her vision. Oyá nodded at them with Frances' head. Not yet, not yet, purred the oricha, you will receive them in due time. For now, your voyage underground out of my power will teach you limits. Aboricha, listen and learn.
When Frances came back to herself, Oyá had left her body face down with arms extended in full foribale. The recent rains left the ground moist so that the good earthy smell of wet soil penetrated to clear her thoughts. Next came the realization that someone shook her shoulder.
"Uhhhhhngah."
"Frawnces."
"Moley, give me a minute." Frances rolled over to spy the ruler of the Mole Men forming a black shape blotting out the stars. He was kneeling in the dirt, biding his time until she could rise. He was a good friend, she realized, and when he hefted both her elbows to help her stand, she allowed the touch. "I'm ready to leave when you are."
"Frawnces change clothes?"
Oh, of course. An impractical skirt and sweaty leggings made for discomfort in close quarters. Verbal teasing was too fun to pass up. "Are you saying I stink?"
"If Frawnces says so, it must be so."
Dancing left her joyous as well as wiped out and so she laughed. "As I said not so long ago, don’t get so entranced with beauty that you forget practicality. Hand me my travel bag and then turn around, you turkey." He obeyed and turned to face Genderblender as she changed into stretchy brown corduroy slacks and turtleneck sweater to match. It wasn't until they reached halfway to Howe Caverns that she remembered how he stared into the coppery surfaces which would have reflected her image to his amazing darkness vision.
IOIOIIOIOIO
"Frawnces not happy."
"Good call, Moley."
"We not go as far as brzdi so why Frawnces not happy?"
"I hate being stupid. My Samsung doesn't work underground, duh, so its stupid GPS doesn't work underground, duh."
"We saw other pretties."
"Yes, we did. Don't be disgruntled like me, Moley, because the one hundred foot waterfall underground truly was a wonderful spectacle."
"Did my best."
"Sure. It's not your fault that I described Howe Caverns and you took us to Secret Caverns not far from them. Something calls me to Howe and I think it's important."
"Why?"
"Here's the thing. My orichas many times leave thought-feelings that aren't specific. It's not like a religion is a GPS, Moley."
"Yphnk."
"I agree with the general thrust of that word. I think."
"Mngtut."
"I'm not hungry, thank you. It's Sunday the ninth, and it's late. I've missed a weekend's worth of business making this trip. I wouldn't have gone if the return date weren't the ninth, Oyá's special day."
"So?"
"Oh my friend, you don't know about money, so you don't know the demographic of my clientele, maaaan. Weekenders having fun, divorced dads looking for a family friendly outing with their kids, and all that. Most of my funds come from two precious days per week. It's similar to when I was a zookeeper."
"Frawnces complicated."
"If Moley says so, it must be true."
"Cmloop!"
"You got that right, brother. Jeff knows I live on the bubble and he's not nice like you are. I dislike living around him and being dependent on his shelter. He could kick me out."
"Klmfru?"
"No! Never! He's not worth making a murderer out of anybody! I'll deal with my life, and hey the Christmas break is coming up, which is always good. I'll make January rent, I'm confident."
"Shzbsh, Frawnces."
"You're a good friend to say I can live with you. I might, who knows? The orichas are silent on many things. For now, I wish to keep a little bit of my old life and some keepsakes from Mom --- "
"Bring."
"Her walnut seven foot tall glassed in china hutch and collection of antique antimacassars? Not practical, my friend. Don't pout."
"Not."
"Let's not go there again, Moley. Here we are, home again, home again, jiggety jig. I'll open the airlock to the Moon Rocket. Too bad nobody is here tonight. It's a dab of fun to leap up in front of folks and make them guess where I came from."
IOIOIOIOIO
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Undertow