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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
Sasquatch and Hugo slept in until the zoo's opening time. As Sasquatch tied into her morning monkey chow with a grimace and Hugo tied in with gusto, he reflected, "You'd think I'd be used to waiting at my age, but I actually am impatient to hear how the battle went when the penguins return." He popped a chunk of chow into the air before gobbling it like a salted peanut. "I have you to thank for my unsettled state."
"Is that sarcasm?"
"Indeed not. I feel alive inside, even if my energy level on the outside doesn't show it." He led the way to the scaffold where Sasquatch noted the crowd waiting for her to do something, so she did.
"Tell a fellow when you're going to grab him like that!" Hugo adjusted his fur.
Sasquatch swung herself up to sit beside where she had tossed him up on the scaffold. "It's the unexpected things in life that spice it up." She waved back at a little boy and his mother who had been waving since the two left the stable. The two humans were the last to leave the moose habitat vicinity in the clumping pattern that most visitors adhered to. Sasquatch saw the boy and his parent disappear into the primate house as they followed their group along. "So we wait until the penguins accomplish their mission, or don't. I'm sure they'll wrap everything up with a pretty bow and come over to brief us tonight at some point."
"Brief us? Now you're talking like them."
She shrugged. "I waddle the waddle, so I talk the talk. They're my temporary allies and herd and that makes them yours, too. Change is in the air."
"If you say so."
The wintry late morning sun warmed their backs and they could tell that spring was approaching. Sasquatch pursued her theme of change. "I've done all I could to fit into a regular life being a daughter, a mate, a mother, a grandmother, and now --- "
"And now what, ayam?"
She swung her feet. "It's hard to explain to one who has always led a solitary life, but I want to lead a life alone like you now with no more personal nurturing. I want to ensure that my kind survives to the next generation but I never want to get personal with anyone ever again." Sasquatch pulled her broken finger absentmindedly and then flinched when it twinged. "I don't expect full understanding from you. Your friendship is enough, Hugo. It's all that I want or need at this stage."
Hugo patted her undamaged hand. "I have not weathered your life, but my own has not been without challenges. When I met you, I wanted to end boredom somehow and you've done that for me. Let's move forward no matter the outcome of the penguins' mission. I want freedom and you want freedom. That's not too bad a goal for over the hill animals like us. Somehow we'll get it."
Sasquatch raised an imaginary Oktoberfestkindgestalt Bavarian beer stein. "To peace on a mountain."
Hugo fist bumped in return. "To peace in the jungle." His gaze hardened. "Let's go for it."
IOIOIOIOIO
"Skipper's Log: Hiatus Version 3.2. I'm committing this entry to memory and not ordering Private to memorize it because it is a not so pretty kettle of fish with personal attachments. On the plus side, I can preen myself again. There is only one nude spot left on my front and it's getting smaller each day. By folding my flippers across my chest just right, nobody can see it. Bending is easier and I feel stronger but I'm not up to par yet, so no swimming, rolling or sliding. Kowalski says I'm fifty per cent of general pre-Sasquatch condition including needing to rebuild more blood volume. Meh. Onward to the negative, Blowhole's takedown suffers delay after delay and by Jackson's muzzle loader, I dread telling my men the latest decision."
It proved just as difficult as the commander had surmised even though he waited until after lunch and that ought to have mellowed them.
"Team, you're going to hate me for this, but I'm not here to be liked. We're delaying Operation: Plug A Blowhole until Wednesday morning."
"Sir?"
"Yagottabekidnme!"
"Skippa?"
This was too important for the usual meeting format. "Walk with me." Skipper led his troops across the isthmus but instead of turning left towards the front fencing, he turned right to thread through the small patch of trees at the back of the habitat. Calluna vulgaris clustered at the feet of several picea abies who must have been one third the age of Private. The calluna vulgaris may have been a month shy of budding its spring greenery, but last year's flowers remained on the plant in a dignified show of brownish glory. Contrasted with the evergreen needles of the six feet tall picea abies, it made food for thought regarding age and the passing of seasons. Skipper didn't much like the food and he was certain he didn't like needles, so he got to the point after twelve steps.
"The Ides of March are tomorrow and Kowalski rightly divulged that they can be considered unlucky. Now before you all say luck is what you make it and remind me that I said it first, I want to tell you that Wednesday is St. Urho's Day. It's a particularly Finnish day and I want to ride that wave all the way to the beach."
Under the tallest picea albies, he turned to gather his crew in a circle. The afternoon's weather was clear and crisp. The watermelon snow from days ago had piled a soft pinkish blanket that pooled about the hips of the tree. Skipper's eyes reminded Private of the hard-as-diamond sapphires in the cabochon necklace that he had admired in the jewelry store when they had nixed the thievery shenanigans of Brick and Cecil. He knew that something momentous was about to take place.
"Men, I'm determining the attack day because I've had enough with letting socialistic rules or my convalescing body set the timing of all this. I've not had a perfect day in years, but my gut says that Wednesday will come close."
There was silence for one full minute before Kowalski broke it. "Skipper, I don't believe that St. Urho is venerable or blessed, much less canonized --- "
"That's the trouble with you, Kowalski, you don't believe. Well, I do. If he's a saint, he's got mojo and we need it."
"Are you sure it's your gut and not your ulcers acting up again? We've all noticed that you've not been digesting your food well lately --- "
Skipper closed his eyes and looked inward for ten seconds. "Nope, it's the gut part of my gut and not the ulcers."
Kowalski had to concede. "Guts are hard to fool."
Private was surprised that Rico proved the last to convince. "'Kippaaah, mebbe Kwoskii testyu?"
"Rico has a point, sir --- "
Skipper stood firm. "Not more tests like you did after the mindjacking. They hurt me."
"But I specifically did not use needles!" Kowalski's voice rose to his upset-there's-no-more-salmon level but not to his we-are-going-to-die-horribly-in-six-point-seven-seconds level.
"I didn't say physically."
"You didn't say anything at the time."
"Never mind. I don't want any tests. My gut wouldn't lie."
Kowalski steepled his flippers. "Sometimes we need to be cruel with needles to be kind. I never did discover what disease that Doc's injections saved us from. It could have been fatal."
"This has nothing to do with that." Skipper fixed Rico with his commanderiest gaze. "Rico, I'm not undergoing anything that Kowalski can come up with away from his lab or even in it. I believe this change in schedule to be best to take down Blowhole. Now do you want to even the score for Sven's injuries or not?"
Rico up-highed after a moment's thought. "Kaboom!"
"I couldn't have put it better myself." Skipper looked to the sky. "Ole, you sit this one out."
The team saluted as one.
IOIOIOIOIO
"Sasquatch. Hugo. Rise and shine, you two."
Hugo stirred. "Zzzzz---what? Why are you here at this hour, penguin?" Skipper saw that they had placed their space heaters closer together so they rested nearer each other but made no comment.
Sasquatch yawned and stretched. "A snafu in the mission? Did Blowhole move his lorry? Is he gone? What happened? Are any of you hurt?""Everything is copacetic, but there's been a change of plan. We're on for day after tomorrow because he's still near the airport as far as intel shows," continued Skipper. Kowalski clicked the 'change' button on the remote and the Vasarely Vision frazzle showed Hugo and Sasquatch sitting up with Hugo's pelt matching Sasquatch's for deshabille.
Sasquatch had not yet gotten it together. "What time is it? Where is Arcturus?" She scrambled out of bed to peer out the north window. "Harreram, I nearly overslept if he's contacting at the usual hour." She slumped in relief. "There's time to wash and not much more. Hugo, I'm not up to playing your late night games any longer."
"It was your first time, my friend. You did all right."
Skipper smacked his forehead and then directed his team to study the manger for weak points. "Tra la la, I'm not listening. We don't need to hear about their late night games." He looked thoughtful after Kowalski, Rico, and Private each pointed three compromised slats due to Bruce The Moose's refuge from boredom by cribbing on good Finnish spruce. "This is a no go for a hide up top although it's secure enough to hide behind. I need a better observation post. Kowalski, options?"
Hugo was already at the waterer. "Playing Botticelli is my forté to stave off boredom, that's true. Wait a moment for the water, I'm dry as a desert angin from asking the game's questions." He sucked on the waterer and afterwards dashed a gnarled hand under it before smoothing down his thinning sagittal crest fur. "Your turn, ayam."
The penguins waited until the middle of the night latrine calls of age had been tended to and the atmosphere in the stable approached calm. Skipper briefed his team and allies after studying Kowalski's drawing in the dirt of the floor. "Kowalski agrees with me that we ought to practice getting this dunsel body of mine to the topside of the milk truck for five in the a.m. Wednesday morning." He pointed upwards to the open beam ceiling. "Private, gain the high ground on that rafter and be my stabilizer. It's a round cedar log so it's a greater challenge than the flat top of the truck will be. You can ace this."
Private soared upward to attack the log as if it were a giant ice worm. He crowed, "Launch him!" as he planted both feet and dug his claws into the unpeeled bark. He watched as Skipper stuck both flippers out to allow Kowalski and Rico to each grasp a pit before they curled a flipper around a thigh and thrust upwards. With perfect faith in the aim of his team, Skipper ascended to the rafter where Private steadied his landing with something resembling a hug. The two sat on the log and not a moment too soon as the Vasarely Vision disappeared to be replaced by the carrier dot and then the flare of Blowhole's laser eye. He must have turned the brightness down quickly because the light in the stable reverted to its usual level. From their perch at an acute angle to the television screen, Private and Skipper heard Blowhole's exhalation but no words.
Sasquatch picked up the ball and tiptoed with it. "So."
Skipper looked backwards and down to see Hugo wave his hand over his brow. Sasquatch appeared to take the hint to run downfield. "So, um, Boss, that was some toot, huh?"
"I'm kind of slippy tonight, Sasquatch. Are you?"
Skipper saw Sasquatch make her eyes look droopy and almost wished he were a real ghost so he could whisper dialogue into her ear and remain unseen by Blowhole. He could appreciate that her acting skills had grown in the short time she had been performing and hoped that she could step up her game in these critical last communications. He trusted that Blowhole was not thrown off by the tone of concern in her next words. He supposed that with anyone as selfish as Blowhole, caring left over after a single drunken rendezvous was taken for granted. "A little. But you overdosed, boss. You're lucky not to be catatonic. Watch out next time."
Blowhole looked uncommonly sober to Sasquatch and not just in a hung over way. "I can't get Skipper out of my mind. He's in the Good Place. He looked wavery around the edges or was that just me?"
Uh oh. Blowhole was testing her and maybe doubting that he saw a ghost after all. Sasquatch puffed out her cheeks and rolled her eyes as if to say here we go again. "I did not have otherworldly contact with the penguin that I offed. You alone saw a ghost. He's in the Pure Land? Well, yes. Obviously."
"Why do you suppose that? You didn't know him."
Sasquatch felt everyone's eyes on her. "I'm saying that because I'm a good minion and agreeing with you. As you said, I didn't know him and you knew him better." She threw in an honest appraisal. "He was a good fighter so maybe that was enough to get him in."
Blowhole must have been pacing on his segway by the way that Sasquatch's head zipped back and forth to follow. A rare solemnity colored Blowhole's voice, a new tone that was not Flippy's empty cheer or Blowhole's villainous glee. Skipper wondered if this was what Doris would call his Francis persona. "I don't understand why he should be there. This means more thought. I am swearing off everything until I figure it out --- "
"You mean you're reforming?" For the sake of everyone's goals, it was better that he continue using mind altering substances until he was taken care of. Sasquatch cudgeled her brain to come up with reasons for him to get blotto sans henbane without seeming obvious.
"It's too late for that. And besides" --- he cracked his jaw in a yawn --- "I wouldn't do justice to my plan if I quit on what took me all the way across two oceans and up the Ganges to the Gandak River to think of. When I reached my stash of segways upstream and trundled to Dave's lab inside the mountain, my minions waiting for me there thought it was good, too." He paused. "Unless they were just shining me on. Chipmunks can do that."
By the Great Horn Spoon, Blowhole's weeks long delay in purloining his enhanced assassin away from DNA discovery had made him extra thoughtful, too. It did not bode well for his takedown. Skipper never thought he'd want to hear the dolphin's mad cackling glee again, but he was wrong. Outward glee depicted an inner hysteria that sometimes glossed over details that might lead to accurate conclusions and nobody in the stable wanted that. For example, what if Blowhole's seemingly shaken confidence inspired him to call in the mysterious Agent Twelve for backup? Agent Twelve was a complete unknown.
Hugo was frantically stroking his brow and waving his hands. Sasquatch put on a joking air. "Come on, you're giving up everything? Not even a lil drinkie with a pal?"
"Last night was a warning from Beyond not to use again. I'd be a fool not to heed it."
Coy and coquettish was a stretch for Sasquatch's talents. "Not even a teeeensy one?"
Blowhole's morals were nothing if not stretchable. "Well, maybe one. Nothing harder than booze, though."
"Thaaaat's my boss."
"Mmmmhm. Gotta go. Keep on the straight and narrow because the artic will pick up you and Hugo any time now. The three weeks might be flex time to get you scheduled for Copenhagen's lab and you don't want to be hauled out of your habitat drunk as a skunk."
Teasing proved more attainable than coyness. "Sir! I beg your pardon!"
"Can it, old woman. Blowhole away."
IOIOIOIOIO
TBC
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