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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/?
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- 110-110/112
- 111-111/112
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- 63
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- 65
Lurking inside a photinia bush desperately in need of vitamin B-12, Kowalski peered through his field glasses at the zoo admin building until his eyes ached and his mind wandered. The photinia bush leaves showed red on one side, green on the other, which were Kidsmas colors now that he thought of it. Rico's gift to him of their SuperKing sized bunk warmed his heart and he smiled, but seeing Alice rummage through her desk focused him on task. What could she be hunting with such a sour face?
"It would seem Alice is crabby even though we can't hear her," he mentioned sotto voce to the chimps on either side of him.
"Phil says he can tell by her body language that she's in a foul mood," said Mason as he and Phil showed more patience than Kowalski would have assumed for mammals lacking commando training. Ahah, Alice grimaced and held up a bottle to shake its contents. Surely it wasn't alcohol to dissipate her bad mood - no, it looked to be an over the counter tummy fix, if he weren't mistaken.
Kowalski muttered, "When isn't she in a foul mood?" before he remembered that she got drippy when the Red Rhodesian Slasher's lust fixated on Mooncat, er, Max. As it seemed a mating would ensue, the team worried that Max might not survive a slasher's seething passion. Isn't nature magical? is what Alice had rhapsodized, typical human sentimentality over a scientific process. To be fair, she had danced like happy people or happy animals do when zoo cameras spied upon her getting down and funky while preparing her solitary meal. He'd never considered what she thought about how her performance reached the internet. Science taught that fruitless hypothesizing wasted precious time. He considered himself 39.48 percent better at listening to Science via his gut since a year ago.
During her baby shower, he estimated that her baseline of happiness stabilized at 25 percent above her norm for the ninety minutes long party. She had even sung while attempting the Macarena. Kowalski had heard that pregnancy mellowed some females and roused others to shrieking, emo nutjobs, a subject that Doctor Phil had never tackled. He would be on his own dealing with a dyspeptic zookeeper named Alice.
He mentally charted Pregnancy Observation No. 1: Subject drinks antacid straight out of the bottle. Sludgy medicine the violent pink color of Dubble Bubble chewing gum chugged down Alice's throat as she rubbed her baby bump. She massaged her back before reseating herself at her desk. The zookeeper wiped her lips, poked her computer keyboard, frowned, answered her outdated office telephone still encumbered by twisty cords, and appeared to confer with an authority figure. At least, Kowalski thought it was an authority figure because she kept nodding and at last hung up. She snatched the keys to the zoo's storage shed from their hook and exited.
Sunny spring weather following yesterday's showers allowed open windows, thank the Maker. Kowalski gestured Routine Four: Scout Ahead, I'll Catch Up Later until it registered who his companions were. "Through the window," he stage whispered as he covered the chimps' rears while they scrabbled into Alice's office. They proved agile enough and quite quiet, too, as Mason took up his usual spot on the floor at Phil's knee as the literate chimp entered chango into the search box while plotzing atop Alice's desk. The desktop computer hmmmed with an occasional clunk and to Kowalski's trained earhole, the hard drive sounded distressed. "Keep it together, circuits and diodes," he mumbled. "Private needs you."
Phil's attention riveted onto the screen as he read a lengthy article, signed to Mason, and clicked on links before crooking a finger. Mason leaped onto the desk first, leaning over Phil's shoulder. "Kowalski, he's off text and onto Images and you must see this."
Kowalski trained his field glasses out the window. Alice was nowhere around and after listening a moment at the door, he vaulted onto the desk to stand at Phil's other shoulder. "Chango is a ... god?"
Phil's signs were more ponderous than usual as Mason appeared to think hard about how to convey the intel regarding humans who swirled flywhisks above their heads, bowed before cooking pots, and offered cigars to what resembled funeral urns. Kowalski envied Phil's literacy before he pushed down emotion to concentrate on observing the chimp's mood as he clicked on links, scowled, and made unbelieving faces. Phil's face normally possessed a cheerful quality reminiscent of Rico's, but today his scholarly look came to the fore and Kowalski acknowledged more bonding with a mammal than he thought possible, well except for 'Eenie. Intelligence flourished behind the chimp's cheer and like Xochi, he couldn't talk. Like Xochi, he was a dear. Kowalski stopped woolgathering at Mason's next words.
"Phil says Chango is the king of Santería and a kinda-sorta god who used to be human. He's the symbol of passion, virility, dancing, lighting" - Mason pivoted after Phil's firm tap on his shoulder, observed the emphatic signs, made an eloquent face of apology to his partner, and swiveled back to Kowalski - "er, pardon me, lightning, and fire."
"So Chango is a typical Aries?" As when he constructed an equation, Kowalski's brain remained on its logical track without feelings derailing it. "So Frances Alberta, a former zookeeper and now Queen of Anime Hair who talks like a Jamaican according to Frankie, summons Chango to, to, to help her do - what?"
"Who's Frankie?"
"Forget I mentioned him because he's nobody important." Skipper had confided his Black Friday meeting with the obnoxious pigeon along with the mysterious intel in a strictly commander-to-lieutenant kaffee klatsch on Cyber Monday. Kowalski had pooh-poohed the information, but now he wasn't so sure. Could Frances Alberta actually construct a weapon that somehow utilized Chango's power? He huffed at his unscientific maunderings.
Preposterous.
Mason blew a raspberry and gestured to Phil, who typed rapidly. Mason faced Kowalski after concentrating on Phil's signs. "Frankie as in a new American-French film? Frankie as in a nickname for Frank Sinatra? Frankie Avalon? Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers? Frankie Valli? Frankie as in - "
"You know, we're getting off track. Forget Frankie and find out more about Chango." Patience, Kowalski, patience. They're not results-driven like penguins are.
Both Phil and Mason placed large-knuckled fists on slim hips. "We don't take orders, penguin. You wanted help, we gave it." The glares they speared him with rivaled Doris' exasperated look when he had begged her not to leave him.
The memory gave him strength to negotiate rather than lose his temper. "If I give you more that Skipper and Private heard in English to speculate on, will you forget Frankie?"
The chimps exchanged nods and Mason crossed his arms, waiting. Kowalski took a deep breath and pruned the tale of the vacation named Howe however he could. "Skipper and Private relayed that Frances Alberta wore clanking bracelets and ginormous layers of skirts. She claimed she would get them. She screamed nothing intelligible for awhile, she hollered for somebody to possess her and sit on her head" - he blew an impatient breath at Phil's and Mason's smirks - "no, I'm positive she didn't mean it that way, get real why don't you, she asked Chango to change them into what pleased him right before a ray zapped Private but who knows what target she aimed at, she threatened to fry Skipper and Private and sacrifice their lives to - am I going too fast for you?"
Two dropped jaws replaced the smirks.
"What's the matter?" asked Kowalski.
Mason's voice broke. "She wanted to murder them?"
"Yes, what about it?"
Phil's hand reached out to Mason's and they entwined fingers. "Sacrifice? Kill?" pursued the vocal chimp.
"Yes, and I repeat, what about it? We hear that all the time." Silly mammals. How sheltered could zoo animals get? Oh, wait, not everyone was a commando. He paused for them to regain balance and resume acquiring intel. Really, Skipper had ordered ASAP with the special impetus he gave to helping his team members whether they were lovers or not. A certain green memory arose and Kowalski brushed it away like a fluttering, pretty luna moth.
"Moving right along, let's - "
Mason looked like he couldn't believe his generously shaped ears. "Actually kill? You're certain Skipper and Private said kill, as in make d-dead?" The corners of his generously shaped lips trembled as they sagged.
Kowalski was glad he didn't own lips as he sprang to defend his absent friends. "Yes, kill was the word and I don't doubt their accurate reporting and neither should you, even if they were slightly busy trying to survive underground rubidium explosions while preparing to battle a nutty human - "
"Explosions resembling Chango's lightning?" Mason asked after a beat.
"Well, yes, if you want to put it that way." Phil flashed a sign with his free hand and Mason grasped Kowalski's flipper. The three formed a chain of moral support stretching from Phil atop the desk to Mason standing on Alice's office floor on his own sturdy bow legs to Kowalski, who didn't know what to make of this. He stood holding Mason's hand, feeling awkward and unprofessional.
"So Frances Alberta wants to kill animals. We won't let that happen," vowed Mason. His hand squeezed uncomfortably and oh, how unlike a comrade's flipper pat or a tender stroke from a lover this contact was. Hands were ... grabby. Kowalski allowed the pressure as he realized that these allies meant well. Aw, candle nuts, he felt a blush coming on.
"Flash bang kaboom rubidium, yes exactly," maintained Kowalski as he squeezed back in camaraderie before letting go and edging out of range. "And as for the other, danger is what we do. We're used to being the target of revenge and hate - " He broke off as Phil's wordless sob turned all Mason's attention to him. Tears shone in the literate chimp's eyes and Kowalski attempted damage control. By the Great Horn Spoon, chimps were needy! All this flummery over a simple internet search, sheesh! "And, and, Phil, it's no big deal. Really!"
Phil's chin wibbled.
"Really, Phil."
"Stop, Kowalski, you know how Phil gets." Mason stroked hairy fingertips and rubbed smooth palms to comfort and after a moment, Phil replaced his hands on the keyboard, looking determined as he attacked the keys. "I've seen him like this before. He'll help Private until he drops from carpal tunnel syndrome. Continue."
"Er, all right. Moving along, what else do you have for us, Phil?"
Twenty-two minutes passed until Phil reached a stopping point and signed to Mason. Phil's face let Kowalski know that reading this helpful intel strained the chimp's credulity, and likely it would strain Kowalski's, too.
Mason began slowly. "Chango and Saint Barbara share violent histories that Phil refuses to relate, but which makes them kin under the skin, so to speak. I'm sorry, sometimes he gets like that. It's the burden of reading what he can't affect, I suppose. Here's what he's willing to tell." Phil's large brown eyes bored into Kowalski's bright blue ones as if to impress the truth of the data upon him. Kowalski shifted uncomfortably until he straightened his spine, nodded at Phil, and arranged his clipboard in front of him, pencil at the ready.
"Proceed."
There followed an equation illustrated by scratchy drawings, improbable Venn diagrams, and stick figures.
IOIOIOIOIO
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Undertow