Finnius Posted May 9, 2004 Report Share Posted May 9, 2004 Prologue A cold, wet morning. Wind whistles past two still forms, hands at hilts, swords slightly drawn. They face each other as the sun draws over the horizon, painting the bottoms of the now-silent clouds with crimson light. The light silhouettes them, shadows lengthen and retract as the sun moves behind the clouds. The two move as one, clearing the path between them in seconds. Swords clash and fall back, meet again. One stumbles and falls, the other darts in quickly and the duel is over. --------------------------------------------- Chapter One Death is surprisingly easy to adapt to. Yes, I realize that was a grammatical error, but hey, I'm dead, I can do that kind of thing. Anyway, like I was saying, death ain't all that bad. Yeah, it's a little chilly at first, but you get used to that. I think I'm forgetting something... hmm... Introductions! My name is Finnius Mustardio Jalopini-Canard O'Harpy. Call me Finn, it makes things a lot easier. Some of you may know me from various places in the Conservatory, but I won't plug myself now. Maybe later, but not now. Of course, those of you I've met have been mostly alive. At the time of my relating this to you, I'm very dead. How can I talk to you from "beyond the grave," you might ask? Let's not go into details about that, just assume it's possible. Truth to tell, the exact mechanism is beyond me. I'm rambling, aren't I? Bad habits carry over, it seems. Anyway, let's skip to the story. It all started innocently enough. Most things involving life-threatening danger start that way, ironically enough. Maybe it's because people get antsy with guilty beginnings and decide to stay in bed. Maybe not, who knows? I had just gotten up, hesitantly, as I had a nasty cut on my side. That was nothing interesting, just proof positive that you should always watch your feet while peeling onions in the rain. But that's a story for another time. In any case, I got up, pulled on some clothes, then realized I hadn't taken a shower. Fifteen minutes later I pulled on my clothes again, opened my front door and went off to buy some bandages. The ones I had were clean enough, but I needed more before that changed. The market was uninteresting, which is just the way markets should be. Old Man Moesie sold me some cheap linen rolls, I bought a few fresh onions, (I have a weak spot for them. Everyone needs a guilty pleasure, right?) and I made my way back home. Upon returning to my place of dwelling, several things were instantly noticable. First, I had forgotten to close the door on my way out. Second, there were several large burly men on my couch, one of whom I recognized. Lastly, my old roomate was perched on my favorite chair. He'd apparently lost an eye since I saw him last. That, or he thought eyepatches looked cool. If I'd known what I was about to get myself into, I would have just closed the door and looked for a new apartment. --------------------- Chapter Two So I come home to find an old roomate waiting with two big goons. That didn't upset me so much, seeing as one of the goons was my current roomate. The missing eye, though, was kind of off-setting. Putting on my best "I've-got-visitors- whether-I-want-them-or-not" face, I stepped into my humble two bedroom apartment. I decided to address the old roomate first. "So, Wyv, what brings you around these parts? I thought you said you were never coming back after the whole cross-dressing debacle. Man, you'll never live that one down." Wyv stared at me with his one good eye. He growled a bit under under his breath, stood up menacingly, and jabbed me in the ribs. Normally, this wouldn't be such a big thing. Wyv always said hello like that and he never put much force behind it. Unfortunately, I had a large open wound right across my ribs. I clutched at my side, fell over, and made a noise that sounded something like this: "...ghagaaack." Wyv, of course, was instantly down and helping me get the weight of my wallet off, so that I could stand up more easily. Once he had secured my financial future, the scaley bash-tarde pulled me to my feet. Noticing the blood, he asked what had happened. I related the whole onion-peeling accident to him, by which point it was time for dinner. "Hehe...," chuckled Wyvern, "I always told you those things would be the death of you." "It'll take more than a little white bulb to kill me, Wyv. But how'd you lose the eye?" Wyv proceded to talk while I made the evening meal. I decided on linguini alfredo, and threw in some diced onions, just because they always made Wyv sneeze, and I knew he hated that. Wyv had lost his eye in a construction accident, or so he claimed. Let that be lesson number two, kids. Always wear safety glasses, even if you're only putting up a swing-set. After dinner, we adjourned for the night. Wyv said he had a favor to ask me in the morning. Once again, I made a large mistake. "Sure thing, Wyv, I'm sure I can help you out." ----------------------- Chapter Three Early the next morning, which was surprisingly cold and wet, Wyv showed up in a stretchy-looking black jumpsuit. Wyv was an odd duck. "Hey, Finn, how's things? Wound still treating you right? Onion breath? Not bad, eh?" I grunted a greeting and waved the old lizard in. Wyv, I was fairly sure, hadn't eaten breakfast. After all, the sun wasn't halfway up yet and Wyv was never one to let the opportunity of a free meal slip by. I scrambled some bread and toasted some eggs, then dumped that mess and got it right. Over the morning meal, Wyv made his proposition. "... It was only a matter of time before the idea hit me to do a talk show. Y'see, the Conservatory is full of all these great writers, mods, yada yada yada, and who better to capitolize on their stardom than moi!" "Malevolent, Omnipotent I?" "No, you arse! Me!!" "So what's the point?" "Err... well, I've got the studio, I've got the crew, but I still need a host. I'd do it myself, but these kind of interviews are far too dang- errrrr, public, for me." Far too public for Wyvern? I hope he didn't expect me to buy that. "And, of course, you could buy a part of the stock when-" "Buy?" After much arguement, fussing, and filching of toast, Wyv finally got me down to the studio. It turned out to be a much nicer place than I had initially thought, with a few chairs, a table, and lots of lights. No place for an audience, though... "Wyv, where's the audience going to sit?" "Oh, there won't be an audience. They take up too much space, and we're not insured." "Not ins-" "Not yet. Going to happen." Wyv assured me over and over about the demure nature of the guests, what a priviledge it would be to host this show, what a fist full of mon- he usually stopped there, for some reason. In the end, he had me hooked. Besides, what harm could a little talk show do? -------------------------- Chapter Four "Lights..." "Camera one, ready." "Camera two, ready." "Camera three..." The first night on Good Morning, Conservatory went surprisingly well. Our guests were Cerulean and Bob the Ninja. Of course, Cery beat the living tar out him, stole back her flatware, and got us our first test of the studio medical staff, but that was to be expected. Afterwards, though, they settled down and the interviewing started. Finn: So, Bob, we've had word that you're on some kind of a secret mission right now, but we haven't heard much since... let me check... part two. Care to comment on that? Bob: (Eyeing Cerulean warily.) What? Oh, that. Yeah, I'm trying to keep things under wraps. Can you believe some guy was following us around with a notepad? I tell you, reporters these days have no sense. Finn: OK, well... (clears throat) on to the next question... Cerulean, you're one of the more prominently prominent people in the Conservatorial community as of the moment. Or so I'm told by this cool little thingy in my ear. Would you like to say anything about these nasty, "Pen expanding into evil" rumors. Cery: The operative word there, Finn, is "rumors." While I can't specifically say anything about our secret plans to dominate the UBB's, I can tell you that Wyvern-Brand Maple Syrup is not made up of a subtle mind-altering agent, designed to weaken the will of the masses. Wyvern-Brand Maple Syrup is one hundred percent syrupy goodness, and a part of your balanced breakfast. Finn: ... Bob: ... Cery: (Smiles happily and nods to herself.) Finn: Moving on... Bob, how's the ninja business? Bob: (Still staring warily at Cerulean.) It's everything the ninja business should be. Except for these black pajamas. Your wardrobe department has no idea what a ninja is supposed to look like. Finn: That's all... nothing else? No interesting stories, or anecdotes? Bob: Nope. Finn: (Turning to Cerulean.) As we all, no-doubt, remember, you were the instigator of one of the largest calamities to ever hit the Conservatory. But Cerulean's Masquerade wasn't just about our executive producer's madness-fueled quest for the ultimate party, was it? Cery: No, actually that was about it. Oh, yeah, and getting lots of pressies! Lots of shiny, happy, gift-wrapping! Finn: ... Bob: ... Cery: (Beams brightly at the camera and waves at Wyvern.) Finn: (Turns towards camera.) And now for tonight's final thoughts. (Rifles through notecards.) Oh, we don't have that segment. Well... Good night, everybody! As the first taping of the show, and my first time interviewing, I thought it went rather well. Wyv, our executive producer, had a higher opinion. "Finn, that was great! I mean the dramatic tension, the plugs of my maple syrup line, it was perfect!" "It was all right, I guess..." Wyv's bottom jaw dropped, which was impressive considering the number of teeth it contained. "All right?! It was more than all right, it was... it was... it was ratings! This is gonna be big, Finny-boy, reeeeaal big." I nodded, much like Cerulean was still doing, and headed back to my apartment. It may have been huge to Wyvern, but I thought I needed a little something more... like an aspirin. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Finnius Posted May 9, 2004 Author Report Share Posted May 9, 2004 Good Morning, Conservatory! (The Semi-Continuation of What Lies Waiting) (A Journalistic Pursuit in Three Parts, with Commentary by Ragamuffin, the Beloved Sideshow Freak.) Wyv's talk show had taken off since our stormy first episode, two or so weeks ago. He'd added a theme song, an audience, and actual working cameras. (The ones we had been using were just mock-ups, so no one ever really saw the first episode. Which was just as well.) He'd hired several other people, for various different reasons. The most surprising one of the lot was that Bead was now our shadowy make-up artist. He'd whisk into your dressing room an hour before the show started, all dark energy and crackling electricity, and be out before you ever saw his face. I'm about to go off on a tangent. Dead people can do that, y'know. Betcha forgot I was dead! I once heard a rumor about Bead. More specifically, it was about what happened when we had Peredhil on the show, a few days before my... errrr... accident. Pered was in the green room, waiting to be introduced, when suddenly, he hears this unearthly sound. Well, he looks up from this raw kielbasa he's wolfing down, and there in front of him is Bead, wielding his make-up palette and oversized paintbrush and looking down at Pered with murder in his eyes. Bead snarls at the guy, he does, and says in a gravelly voice, reminiscent of Clint Eastwood: "Whar's mah tutu?" Pered, not knowing what the half-crazed stagehand is talking about, just slowly puts the kielbasa down and backs into the corner. Bead goes over to the kielbasa, picks it up, turns it around a few times, then sniffs it. He gets this really dreamy look in his eyes, puts the thing back down, then slinks out of the room like a pregnant yak. Pered, when he got called out on stage, was white as death and couldn't say two words without looking over his shoulder. I don't know if it's true, but I wouldn't put anything past the old lush. Anyway, enough of that. I was talking about the show, right? Of course I was. Oops, another grammatical mistake. I really must watch that. Err... The show, yes. Well, I remember when we had Gyrfalcon on, because it was the first time we had actual cameras, and the audience was really pumped up about seeing a mod in person. Gyr struts out on stage, waves to the crowd a few times bows left, right, and then to backstage, y'know, showing the audience his rear. Showboater. Anywho, we got him to sit down, and the questioning began. Finn: Gyr, or should I call you Mr. Falcon? You're one of the most vocal mods on the UBB's, along with RagingGoat and Darkhawk in the Apprentice section. Describe the position for us briefly. Gyr: Gyr is fine. Being a mod, hmmmm? There's not really a whole lot to it, really. To tell the truth, I really don't do a lot of really important or really challenging stuff. Mostly, it's really mundane. Finn: Really? (Shakes head.) Well, could you tell us about the other mods, then, y'know, do you get along, is there any difference in opinion as to what you will and will not allow? Gyr: I really couldn't say much about the other mods. They're really nice people, and they do really good jobs. Really, my only complaint is that sometimes... well, I really shouldn't say anything. Finn: No, please, go ahead. Gyr: Are you sure? I mean, I really wouldn't want to hurt anyone's fealings. Finn: Yes, please go on. Gyr: Well... (Looks around, then moves in closer, and whispers.) Sometimes, Tzimfemme can be really scarey. She has this really big carp thing and... I'm a-scared of fish. Finn: ... Gyr: I don't think she really knows about it, and I really don't want her to be really mad at me, so could we cut this part out, before it really gets aired. Finn: Errrr... we're live. Sorry. Gyr: (Eyes widen in fear and teardrops form in corners, running out in cute little rivers, anime-esque.) Finn: Hey, big fella, I'm sure she'll understand. After all, she's a mod! Mods're supposed to be understanding and compassionate, right? Gyr: (Sniffing.) You don't know Tzimfemme. I once tried to call her just Tzim... and... she... (Breaks down into incoherent sobbing.) Finn: (Looking around at irrate audience.) What?! Audience: Booo! Hisss!! Finn: I think that's quite enough for now. Please join us next time, when our guests will be... Oh dear lord! Tzimfemme and Rydia! ----------------------- Five in the Morning, the Day After Gyrfalcon's Appearance, Wyvern's Office The old lizard leaned back in his Corinthian leather rotating lounge chair, behind a desk made of that rarest of woods, monogamy. He puffed away on an imported Cuban and purused his own personal religious book, the Wall Street Journal. As he got to the listings for commercial and local business stocks, his scaled lips cracked in a very large, very disconcerting, smile. I, standing across from him and fidgetting with an unwrapped twinkie, looked up as the overgrown almost-dragon gave a low chuckle. "Errr... if there's nothing else important, Wyv, could I go now?" The big gila monster waved absently at his door. "Yeah, whatever. Thanks for the paper." I took the elevator back down to my dressing room. (The old studio that we had rented had long ago been abandoned for Wyv's mega-skyscraper office complex.) I passed a small production crew of about three hundred or so, and waved hello at them. They didn't even notice me. Back in my dressing room, I tried in vain to once more unwrap my twinkie. I swear, twinkies and cockroaches will be around forever. I mean, five thousand years from now, I can see aliens landing to explore our planet, finding an unwrapped twinkie, and marvelling at the height of our shrink-wrapping prowess, just moments before the giant, mutant cockroaches melt them to slag with their super-laser. You see how I go off on tangents? Anyway, I eventually gave uup on trying to pry open the shrink-wrapped spawn of Bead and got on to the important business of looking over today's episode plan. I usually spent the better part of the morning tossing out the cue cards with inappropriate or just downright lewd questions that Wyv kept sending my way. Our semi-draconic executive producer had sent more than his fair share this time. But can you really blame him? After several hours of this, the door flew open, the lights went out, and I was plastered with coat after coat of make-up. With a thunderous crack-a-boom, Bead left and I knew it was about time to head down to the studio, which was two floors up and three subway transfers away. I arrived just as the second sound check was going on. The audience showed up about ten minutes after that, the camera crew about ten minutes after that. It was showtime. (Cheesy TV theme song.) Finn: Hello, and welcome to Good Morning Conservatory, I'm your host, Finnius Mustardio Jalopini-Canard O'Harpy, and we've got a great show for you today! Audience: Yaaay! Finn: Our first guest is... (Stage Manager and Head Bouncer RagingGoat runs out, whispers in Finn's ear.) Finn: What do you mean cancelled?! RG: (Shrugs.) Finn: (Whispering.) Well, who do we have, then? RG: (More whispering.) Finn: Oh, this is just great. How am I supposed to... nevermind. Cerulean, from front row: (Screaming.) I love you, RagingGoat! Wooooo! (Waves pom-poms.) RG: (Waves sheepishly.) Audience: Awwwwwww... Finn: (Slaps forehead.) 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