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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
"Even better --- wait for it --- the movie is in black and white!" Private worked hard as unofficial morale officer and only Skipper noticed. The commander was relieved that someone provided lighter material for the team this afternoon. Skipper put on an interested face as he snagged a bit of popcorn from Rico's bag.
"So. And we're black and white. I get it. What's its sitch?"
Private kept up his enthusiasm as the muted introduction to the film showed a beautiful young woman with black hair and ivory skin speaking animatedly. Freckles sprinkled the bridge of her pixyish nose. "Sunday Matinee Madness Maven Moira says it's a 'winnin' combination of romance in South America and the breakout dancin' of Fred and Ginger.'"
"Fred?"
"Not our Fred, Rico. It's the primo dancer of old movies, Fred Astaire. He's as graceful as a penguin." Kowalski showed knowledge of the genre if not gusto.
"South America," Skipper mused. "Would that be Chile?" Rico tugged back his own bag of popcorn from Skipper's reach and produced one for each of his team members at his leader's gesture.
"No, sorry, sir. It's Brazil. It's startin' in a moment." Private unmuted the TV and a lilting brogue reached their earholes.
"---ven Moira here on Polite BBC. Good afternoon, film fans. You're in for a treat as Fred and Ginger spice up a Tropic of Capricorn romance with a jalapeño hot carioca as Etta Moten provides sultry vocals. An integrated cast portrays Brazil's rich dynamic as well as any thirties musical can, and I'm not just saying that because I'm Black Irish. Come into my parlor and enjoy Flying Down To Rio with me."
As spinning propellers swooped towards the audience in an exciting opening sequence, Private added a final fillip of diversion from serious Blowhole-related topics. "The Olympics are in Rio this year, too!"
Rico wolf whistled at a Miss Perky lookalike in a ballroom scene as Skipper offered commentary. "Too light topside, too bulgy in her ballast. We can do better." The two bided their time as plot points involving a plane crash into jungle and the main leads spending an unchaperoned night together played out. "Hooboy. Human morality," Skipper snorted.
The commander perked up as Fred and Ginger overclocked the digital screen while dancing an incandescent carioca. He glanced at Private's long face at the lack of overt gaiety over his choice of film to boost morale. He acted. "Men, we need exercise. Let's cut a rug." At the command, Rico grabbed his leader about the waist with a yeahbaby and deep dip until Skipper forced him into the proper steps. Fred and Ginger were joined onscreen by the crowded dance routines with waves of performers that only thirties musicals could do memorably.
"Smashin'!" Private hauled Kowalski to his feet. Kowalski spied the troupe of dancers of color to mimic and bent his tall frame over Private while the younger penguin swayed backwards like a black and white lily bending on its stem. They shook their shoulders in tandem as if trembling with Antarctic cold and Kowalski cracked a grin hard enough to give him a scar matching Rico's. The four penguins rocked to the syncopated beat as they touched flippers and balanced on one leg as they kicked at the knee of the partner. At the same time, the partner kicked backwards to avoid a painful knock and they synchronized back and forth until the next and most famous part of the dance proceeded.
Forehead to forehead, Rico and Skipper along with Kowalski and Private placed their flippers atop their partner's shoulders and shuffled in time to the music. When both pairs attempted the 360 degree pivot while still touching heads, they stopped one quarter of the way around. "My spine!" came from Kowalski and "Ack!" from Rico simultaneously.
"Private, your height and mine do not compute."
"Righto, let's change partners and dance."
"Bye, 'Kippaaaah." Rico switched to Kowalski without a backward glance. The humans commenced snapping their hips and skimming their partner's forms without touching anything but the foreheads. The penguins did the same until Skipper looked uncomfortable.
"I think you and I should stop."
Private clung to the routine beyond reason as he turned his back while still strongly in his commander's personal space. "Why? This is the best part!"
Skipper stepped away. "Because I say so. Look, I want to sit down, that's all."
"All tuckered out, are we? Why didn't you speak up sooner? Here's a plump pillow for your sit-upon, Skippa." Private and Skipper settled to watch Rico and Kowalski still at it. By the time the music number subsided back into plot, the scientist and the Penguin From K.A.B.O.O.M. flopped beside them. For the finale, four little penguins watched girls draped in chiffon tear away a great deal of their costumes to perform synchronized arm movements as they stood on the wings of biplanes similar to the penguins' own radio controlled one. One girl seemed to fall from her stanchion's tether but was rescued quickly.
"Fake, fake, fake."
"I know, K'walski, but use your imagination." Private took another look. "Or girl watch, if you prefer."
"Psssht. Human girls." Kowalski catalogued his scant collection of female acquaintances with the scientific method. He tested with one control and numerous experiments. First was Marlene, smart and friendly and full of possibilities for the right suitor; Rhonda, well nobody would touch her with a ten-foot flipper; Pinkie had a history that would shrink anyone's ego while there were far too many busybodies in her flock for her to pick apart any relationship with, and then there were those ungainly legs; Shelly had her macho plastic man to fixate upon now, good on her; there was the Blue Hen, ever virginal and ever mean; Kitka was too scary, he admitted to himself; and always and forever his control in l'amour, Doris of the iridescent hide and knowing looks.
Come to think of it, the lush curves of the lead dancer gave off the air of intriguing backstory and experience. He studied her as she braved the faux clouds on her faux flight. He made a wry face. Don't go there, Kowalski, he thought, because she could make your Doris look like an angel and not a fallen one. In universe in the film, she lived and breathed and displayed talent; in the real world, she was likely long dead. That was the trouble with movies this old. He was about to comment on the fact when Private completed his survey of the fulsome acres of pulchritude, too.
"These girls bein' human doesn't seem to bother Skippa and Rico." Private sniffed. "None of them can hold a candle to Shawna."
Skipper sought to make a more solid contribution to the lighter mood. "Well, Private, you may be right about that. Take Frances Alberta, for instance. Evil zookeeper or not, she couldn't beat Shawna in a Miss Tri-Cities Beauty Contest, but she was quite a ... peach. Get it? Peach, elberta peaches, pretty girl is a peach. I thought it up myself just this minute."
"Skippa, stick to leadin', please." As the film headed to its predestined happy ending, Private seized the fade-out moment to shout, "Jitterbug!"
"Aw, Private, I can't really do that one justice in my current shape and you know it. Not that I wouldn't want to with you."
"Don't worry, Skippa. No flippin' me over your head or slidin' me between your legs or vice versa. Just footwork, see?" He guided his commander into a Modified Stompin' At The Savoy. He gripped two willing flippers to pull them together belly to belly and then pushed them apart to shuffle into a cross step. "And now the sweetheart push. Again. One more time." Despite its tameness, the two accomplished a cooling down sort of activity from the energetic carioca and their cardio rates appreciated it.
Beside them, Kowalski whooped as Rico spun him like a top before tossing him within one quarter inch of the ceiling. "Rico! No friendly fire casualties, soldier!"
"Otay." Kowalski dropped like a bride into Rico's grasp.
"Put me down this nanosecond!"
IOIOIOIOIO
IOIOIOIOIO
::I've never used other than booze, Hugo. Do you think I was convincing?::
::I think so and they did, too.::
Sasquatch and Hugo grabbed bananas on the way out to their exercise area. The fog appeared lighter this afternoon, more of a sliding silver curtain than a blackout drapery. The two friends clambered onto the tire swing.
::What do they think of me, anyway? Weeds and trips and such. The most I've ever done is nibble licorice plant which is quite bracing.::"Why are we using headtalk when we're alone and together?"
::I don't trust them not to surveille me no matter that we're um, working together. The lead bull would do anything to defeat Blowhole, I could see that.::
::All right. Headtalk it is. Echo-o-o-o-o! Yodel-ay-eeee-hoooo!::
::Stop that!::
::Come on, have a little fun. Life is not that bad. Trust me.::
Sasquatch squirmed in the hole of the tire and Hugo straddled the rope up top with his legs pointing in the opposite direction as hers. She gave an idle push to set the swing in motion. Hugo made a dismissive noise.
::Who cares what penguins think as long as we get away from here? They seem competent.::::My friend, I can see that you are not a herd animal.:: Sasquatch licked the smear of banana off her fingers. ::It matters because they are my temporary herd and I need to fit in.::
Hugo aimed his peel for the crotch of the tree branch and nearly made it. ::We orangutan males live alone mostly and contact with females is limited to when we both, um, are in the mood. Some males, like me, never get a date.:: He shrugged. ::I can live with that.::
::There you go. I am used to thirty or more in a structured group. I was one of five alphas in my herd.::
Hugo scratched his head. ::More than thirty Orang Pendek in a group? Your home must be remote indeed to avoid kidnapping humans.::
Sasquatch kicked them higher as she clenched the sides of the artic-sized tire. To Hugo, her face looked pinched with thought. She was a complex friend. He held on with both hands and both feet to the rope. ::Don't spin. I can handle anything but spinning in my golden years.::
::Hugo, I'm going to tell you a secret.::
::That's high enough, ayam. I don't want to lose my banana. Secret? Friends don't keep secrets from each other.::
::The good ones do.:: Sasquatch leveled them into a twenty degree arc as the two enjoyed the sway of gentle movement. She was reluctant to end the stasis.
Hugo broke the radio silence. ::Sasquatch, I realize that you are not like other great apes. What do you want to tell me?::
::I was not born an ape, a yeti, a sasquatch, a bigfoot or Pendek Orang.::
::Of course you weren't! We grow into ourselves and then comes the time when we are not blobs of baby but thinking, speaking animals --- ::
::Not that either.:: Sasquatch took a deep breath to force out the difficult mental words. ::I was born a wild yak in China.::
In no plane of existence could Hugo have thought of this. ::No.::
::Yes. I met Blowhole in a bar and he made me into his assassin because he knew his arch-enemy Skipper would want to meet a sasquatch. He hacked the bulls' zoo schedule to discover their location when my change would be complete. It helped that as either yak or yeti I am quiet-footed and withstand cold and heights although Blowhole could not have foretold Kastelholm. Do you hate me now?::
::It explains so much.:: There was a long silence as Sasquatch closed her eyes and willed herself to calm. ::I don't want to hug you for keeping this secret, but I don't hate you because I've lived long enough to have my own secrets. We move forward, ayam.::
Sasquatch halted their swing. ::If I don't make it through this and see home again, I wanted you to know the truth about me. My devotion last night said to come clean.::
"Piffle. Let's go brachiate on the scaffolding."
IOIOIOIOIO
Ice skirled in sparkling shaved swirls as the New York Rangers and Pittsburgh Penguins met in battle royal. Kowalski looked up from packing a bottle of beer along with an opener and henbane matched with a faux henbane. He entrusted everything including the fish oil to Rico with a pat on the back. "Pack your patience, sir."
"What the braap is Lundqvist doing! He let two by Sheary get by in the second and now one by Crosby in the third! Five to three Penguins can't stand as the final!"
But it did. Skipper grumbled about it until switching to a delayed Channel One squib on the letters children wrote to Central Park Zoo.
"Just like missives to Santa, our zoo penguins receive dozens of letters each day. Let me read one that will touch your heart." Chuck Charles spread the letter to show to the camera. It was crayoned inside a black Sharpie outline of a penguin on lined school paper. "'Please come back soon because I miss you and I look forward to smiling and waving at you because that's all I can do from my wheelchair because I broke my leg on the halfpipe at my skate park because I am dumb like my mom says. The end. Signed, Fisher Mircowicz.'" Chuck folded the paper solemnly before his mood whiplashed into cheer. "Until tomorrow, Chuck Charles signing off and may your problems escape the nightly news." Skipper slashed savagely at the remote to access the frazzling lighting channel.
"He sounds dumb, yes he does."
"Skippa, he's a kid! Cut him a break!"
"He already got one, but we'll let that pass. Men, we march early. Form up so I can cuss out the Rangers on the way."
IOIOIOIOIO
Sasquatch appeared to be getting more into her acting. "I'll already have it opened so he sees me as further down the road to stupefaction. He'll want to catch up." She looked sly. "And that way, I can replace the beer with water and he'll never know it. The smell of beer makes me urpy and so does the fish oil."
Rico nodded as if the realm of addiction was not too far from his general mental state. He opened the bottle for her and dumped the beer before plunking the bottle under the pet waterer to refill it. He placed both sorts of leaves on top of the TV before looking to Skipper for approval.
"All right, amigo, I bow to your passion for misleading scenarios. I still remember the English bone china teacups that you filled with sticks of dynamite."
Hiding behind the manger was getting to be crowded with the addition of an elderly orangutan. Skipper asked for a boost to perch atop the manger's edge slat at Sasquatch's stage right or Blowhole's stage left or something, Kowalski wasn't sure. "Be careful, sir. Don't overdo."
"Of course, nurse. If I need to supply stage directions, she can see me better up here. I'll be fine."
Hugo took a closer look at the manger. "Bruce The Moose cribbed on the slats, see the bite marks? Moose are like horses and nibble on wood when they're bored. I can feel for him myself. Take care, penguin." Skipper looked down at his uncertain footing much as he had on Kastelholm's icy ridge.
"I've got it under control, but thanks, Hugo."
Right on time came the familiar skeewoozzt of the carrier wave blooming into Blowhole's visage. "One two three nothing new to spew to you so let's par-tay, old lady. Blue Six is a keeper because he brought back three mashy soggy leaves that ought to do the trick. See?"
Sasquatch waved her bottle as she squinted at what Skipper assumed were the leaves. "What'sh your drinkie?"
"It's a smo-o-o-o-th as silk single malt Scotch. Envious, much?"
She blew a raspberry in reply. "Here's a smooch fer ya!" She downed a swallow after swishing it over her gums.
"Mmmmmmmmm, it'll kick in any second now."
"You're not getting ahead of me. Let's see, take a swig, mash the leaves on top and steep --- "
Sasquatch choked. When she could speak, she said, "You're not putting all three in! Blowhole! Boss, don't!"
"Shut up! I'm counting seconds here, fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty, come to papa, baby!" The manger crew cringed at the loud clash of tonsils and waited for results. They didn't wait long.
"Ha. Ha. Hahahaha. Oooh yeah. Mmmm. That's --- uh ---uh --- uh --- did you feel like you're circling Akron in a zeppelin --- I got no words --- "
Sasquatch caught herself from displaying any more of the concern that she would give to any of her fellow creatures, even Blowhole. It seemed she was only deadly when she was on the job for money. It made Skipper applaud internally when she continued in her act and took another swig while clapping a companionable arm around the TV and leaning close.
"Hey, ol' buddy, ol' buddy, howzabout a song? I heard you in the shower that next morning, sounded like you gots a shurprishingly lovely shinging voice, lemme shtart --- " She tapped the beer bottle against the screen and Skipper could tell that Blowhole was amenable by the way that the crazoid cleared his throat and blowhole at the same time. He leaned forward to catch everything that issued from this unwise action of a demented dolphin and steadied himself on an abutting slat.
There was a squeeechpop as the nail supporting the top of the slat worked loose around the splinters that Bruce had cribbed from the manger's top horizontal board. Skipper clung to the abutting slat for a moment and then let go as the slat slowly arced downward. He wavered on his own slat as his shifting weight loosened the nail in that one, too. From behind him he heard movement and pictured the scenario as he slid remorselessly downward as if on Kastelholm's drawbridge from the time when it had had a drawbridge. There would be his team forming a tower stack, Rico at bottom, Kowalski in the middle while supporting Private whose flippers even now swished fruitlessly behind his body. Hugo would climb to the manger's top to reach out for 'penguin' but his aged muscles would move too slowly to catch him. It was all so inevitable that he would face Blowhole in this way, out of tiptop shape and unprepared for a confrontation this soon. He couldn't jump, he couldn't without trashing his body even more to keep out of the action when his team needed him. He allowed the sitch to happen and steeled himself for whatever came next as events transpired in slow motion as they always did in such times.
Both slats came free at the top but stayed loosely fastened at the bottom. As the abutting slat hit the dirt floor of the stable, the slat with Skipper on it deposited him one second later as gently as if it were concerned about his compromised health. He landed fully within Blowhole's range of view.
"Skipper?"
IOIOIOIOIO
TBC
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