The Font
Chapter 1
The early afternoon sun shone through the window of Robear Roberto's
taco stand, and directly into the grease-painted face of a morose
rodent clad in a gingham tablecloth. On the bench beside him, a
bulbous-looking bird pecked half-heartedly at a cold bean burrito.
John Doe, the Undead Hero otherwise known as the Dodo, was resting
his muzzle on his arms and trying to ignore the owner of the
establishment. The cyber-bear's near-incomprehensible synthesized
english, made even worse by the spanish accent overlaying the
vocalizations.
"I beg your pardon, sir, but you have been here all day now, and I
was wondering if you would like to pay for your burritos? You are
making the other customers uncomfortable."
The weasel turned his head towards Roberto, jostling his face and
causing his right eyeball to pop out of his head and land with a soft
thwack on the formica table, lolling at the end of the optic nerve.
He picked it up and pushed it back into the socket.
"Begone, knave. Can your low-wattage intellect not comprehend that
I am suffering under an onus of the soul? Your mundane fiscal issues
are of no import to me."
"Oh, a deadbeat, huh?" the berbil replied sternly. He waddled away
to the kitchen door and called into it, "Myrna? Another one."
"Myrna?" John said, sitting up. Then a massive paw closed around his
neck and hauled him aloft. He was carried through the lounge with
two feet of empty space between his sneakers and the floor, then
hurled out the restaraunt door. He hit the dirt face-first, digging
a foot-long furrow with his face chin. His eyeballs popped out and
bungeed on their nerve connections, snapping back into place when he
finished his slide.
John rolled over, shook his head and spat out a glob of soil. He
turned back to the entrance and yelled, "Hey! Where's my dodo?!" A
half a second later, the round turkey-like creature shot out of the
opening and plowed into him, sending both of them rolling across the
grass in a heap.
"And stay out!" Robear Roberto called, then slammed the door shut.
John lay in the grass, stunned. His dodo stood on his chest, looked
down at his face and honked at him.
"Yeah, I'm alright," John answered, then sat up, dumping the bird on
it's butt in the grass. He got to his feet and walked to the road,
keeping his pace slow enough for his companion to waddle along beside
him. "I don't know what to do, grim guide of vengeance. I should be
out fighting Thundercat iniquity. But with the Dreaded Master of All
Evil vanquished, and his troops in disarray, there just isn't a whole
lot of iniquity to go around these days. The entire fandom is awash
in a sea of peace and tranquility. Everything and everyone is filled
with joy and prosperity." He sighed. " I just don't see how things
can get much worse, really."
"Honk," the bird said.
The weasel stopped and looked at the creature. "Of course!" he
exclaimed. "What I need is guidance, a new hand to help me on to the
next level of goodness and Thundercat righteousness!" He paused, then
said reflectively, "But where will I look to find such a worthy
one?"
He sat down on the grass to ponder. The dodo setteled in alongside
him and honked.
John answered, "No, the church has nothing to offer me. How could
anything pre-existing the internet possibly have any relevance to
modern life? No, I must reflect on my vast knowledge of the world,
accumulated from thousands of hours of vacuous television viewing, to
help me determine what makes a person wise."
Thus saying, John lapsed into silence while his mind raced back over
the bulk of it's contents. From a point somewhere between John's
ears, the dodo could hear a sound like rusty gears grinding. Hours
passed. Then, abruptly, the weasel blinked and announced, "I have
it!"
"Honk?"
"Throughout all of modern television, the answer is made apparent.
>From MTV to Disney, from Willow to Will, to practically everyone in
the motion picture industry today! And what is the link in all of
this?" he grinned smugly.
"Ho--"
"Homosexuality!" John crowed. "Yes indeed, all the great minds of
today are gay. Look at the business acumen of Rosie O'Donnel, the
comedic genuis of Ellen Degeneris, the suave sophistication of George
Michael! To determine my path, I must avail myself of the wisdom of
gaydom!"
The dodo slapped it's beak with it's right wing, shook it's head,
and made a sound suspiciously like a sigh. But John had already
turned to gaze triumphantly at the horizon, and missed the display.
"I begin my pilgrimage tonight, today, this very hour! My path is
clear, my destination assured. Let us proceed, my spirit of
vengeance, to King Kat Avenue!"
********
Thunderwolf rolled out of bed naked and tottered down the hall to the
bathroom. A few moments later, wrapped in a bathrobe, he stumbled
downstairs and into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator to see
what was available for breakfast. His eyes lit on an empty case of
Thunderweiser, and a half-bottle of Panther Black stout.
"Fuck me," he grumbled over the slim pickings.
"You know I don't do mornings," Shark said, coming into the kitchen.
The ichthyoid cinched his robe belt tightly around his waist, went to
the counter, opened the pan drawer and took out a large iron
skillet. "Hand me the pixie bacon, would you?"
"No bacon. Gonna have to go beat some out of Zhyan," Thunderwolf
said. He went into the living room, found his blue biker shorts
where he'd left them on the floor the night before, and pulled them
on just as he walked out the front door.
He went to the curb and sprang into the driver's seat of his white
mercedes convertible, turned the engine over and peeled rubber into
the street, causing two cars behind him to swerve into oncoming
traffic. He ignored the crunch of metal, explosions and screams of
the dying as he roared down the lane towards the ATB.
He reached RD Rivero's fortress after just a few moments and used his
access card to get inside. He made a bee-line for the apartment
Zhyan and Spark shared since they'd moved out of the Ferocious
Females' lair. He reached the door, listened for a moment, then
pounded on the steel hard enough to dent it.
"Yo, bat-boy!" he yelled.
The door opened, and Spark looked out. "Good morning, loco gato,"
she said. "What are you needing?"
"Bacon. You're boyfriend's behind schedule. I thought a guy with
wings would be faster than this."
"Zhyan is sick today, but I will give you bacon I have here," Spark
said, then went back inside. Thunderwolf waited, leaning on the
wall, arms crossed and drumming his fingers on his biceps. After a
few minutes, the azteca returned and handed him two pounds of fillet
o' pixie.
"Ten thunderbucks," she said. TW pulled the cash out of his
waistband, nodded, and headed back to his car.
When he got back, he handed Shark the bacon. Shark took it and
said, "Did you see the firemen out front? They're so cute in those
outfits."
Thunderwolf grunted an obscenity and said, "Held me up a block down
the street. They think they own the damned road or something."
"You didn't run over any this time, did you?" Thunderwolf said
nothing, and Shark didn't pursue it. Changing the subject, he
said, "We're still on for the flea market, right?"
"Yeah," the saberlion said. "You figure out what you want yet?"
"I always decide when I get there. You?" Shark replied. The
townhouse was filling with the smell of spiced pixie strips.
Thunderwolf leaned back in his seat and grinned. "I'll find it," was
all he said.
********
A few hours later, the couple walked out of the Peddler's Mall.
Shark was carrying two bags of ornate statuary. Thunderwolf was
carrying a rocket launcher.
"What is it with you?" Shark complained. "You need jeans! You could
have bought six pairs for the price of that thing."
"Yeah, but you just can't pass up a bargain like this baby,"
Thunderwolf said. He looked up the street and grinned. "Besides, I
like green fur better than denim."
"Uh-oh," Shark said. Following his lover's gaze up the road, he saw
Fianna strolling out of the Bijou Theatre, a super-dee-duper size
popcorn bucket in one hand and a king-size-turbo-gulp of cola in the
other.Shark looked back at Thunderwolf. The sabertooth already had
the launcher on his shoulder.
"Hey, babe? Remember what the judge said about property damage?
Thunderwolf? We're gonna have to pay for-- oh shit."
Fianna, crunching contentedly on popcorn and sipping soda, caught a
flicker of fire out the corner of his eye. The dog dropped his
snacks and hit the deck a split second before a small RPG shell flew
over his head, down the street and blew up a truck full of nuns
carrying christmas presents to the Orphan's Home.
Fianna rolled to his feet beside a parked car. The caninoid spared a
glance over his shoulder, then called over to the twosome, "You guys
might want to stay inside in a rainstorm for a few weeks!"
Thunderwolf reached in his shopping bag for a fresh rocket. "Hope
you liked the movie, smartass, cause it's your last!"
Fianna reached over, grabbed the car and hefted it onto his shoulder,
facing the pair. He wrenched a section of exhaust pipe loose and
held it like a the trigger to a bazooka.
"I think I'll die another day," the dog chortled. He closed one eye,
sighting along the bottom of the Aston-Martin. He bounced the car on
his shoulder and a dozen missle ports sprang into sight.
"AW SHIT!" Thunderwolf yelled. He dropped everything, grabbed Shark
and propelled them both across the street with a powerful leap, just
before a flight of missles tore through the space they had occupied
and into the buildings beyond, destroying a library, a medical center
and and the orphanage the nuns had been headed for.
"Oops," Fianna said sheepishly, then swept the car around, looking
for fresh targets. When neither of the couple showed, he set the car
back on the curb, picked up his treats and continued on his way home
umolested.
A few seconds later, a suave-looking englishman in a tuxedo and a
beautiful young black woman in a jumpsuit ran out of the office
building across the street, pursued by several rough-looking guys
with guns. They jumped into the car, turned the key, and gasped when
the Aston-Martin, with it's mutilated exhaust, failed to start.
A split second later, the roughians closed in and pumped them both
full of lead.
********
Thunderwolf stomped up the sidewalk, the paving cracking beneath the
force of his feet. Shark followed behind, repressing a smirk at his
lover's fury.
"You're so cute when you're angry," Shark said.
"That damn dog! Why can't he just stand fucking still?! He even
wasted my rocket launcher! I oughta--" He stopped instantly when
the front door of their home swung open at a touch. The saberlion's
mace appeared in his hands, and Shark set down his packages and
produced his harpoon.
"You locked that, right?" Thunderwolf asked.
"Uh-huh," Shark said tersely. Together, they moved into the living
room and started towards the kitchen.
Suddenly, a small form bounded out of the doorway. Thunderwolf
stared, awe-struck. Behind him, Shark gaped for two full seconds
before collapsing onto the floor in gales of laughter.
"Greetings!" the weasel announced. It was dressed in one of
Thunderwolf's breastplates, which covered the rodent from neck to
knees. On top of it's head was a curly brown wig that flowed to the
middle of it's back. In it's right hand was a mace fashioned from a
ladel and a wad of tin foil. A single tine from a plastic fork was
stuck into it's right lip, in imitation of a sabertooth.
Thunderwolf stared some more.
"Behold, mighty one, I have patterned myself in your image, the
better to understand your teachings!" the rodent announced, thrusting
it's home-made mace into the air. "I am John Doe the Undead Hero,
come to learn the wisdom of the homosexuals!"
"What. The. Fuck?" Thunderwolf said.
"I've been taking notes," the weasel said, and reached beneath the
breast plate and pulled out a small notebook. He flipped it open and
read aloud, "Always kick ass, where ever possible. Kill green
dogs, if possible. Sleep with fish." He stopped, looked at
Thunderwolf and said, "I'm pretty much cool with everything except
the sleeping with fish. Is there any way to be homosexual without
sleeping with fish? That one just doesn't appeal to me."
Shark was close to hyperventilating. After a few more seconds of
staring, Thunderwolf reached a conclusion. "Come with me," he told
the weasel, and led the rodent warrior back into the kitchen. He
closed the door on Shark's hysterics, turned to Doe and said, "You
want to be wise, is that it?"
"YES!" the Dodo crowed triumphantly. "Or at least, to seek the
benefit of your wisdom."
"Then you need to understand that being homosexual doesn't make you
wiser than anybody else. It's like saying blondes have more fun, or
black people have rythm. It's a generalization. Wisdom is something
you develop over years of experience, and it's got nothing to do with
your sexual orientation, gay or straight."
John was thunderstruck. "But on television--"
"Forget television. You won't find the answer to life's big
questions on any episode of 'Buffy', no matter who Willow's screwing
this season." Thunderwolf reached over and pulled the wig off the
weasel's head, then grabbed the breastplate and hauled it off as
well. "There's only one thing you need to learn from me. You said
you read my grune-isms on my computer, right?"
John nodded.
"What was the first one?"
"'Never annoy Thunderwolf'," the Dodo answered smartly.
"And the second?"
"'When tempted to annoy Thunderwolf, verify insurance coverage before
proceeding'."
Thunderwolf smiled. A split-second later, John Doe the Undead Hero
crashed bodily through the wall to the right of the kitchen door and
landed in a mangled heap in the back yard.
"Damn. Missed," Thunderwolf said. Behind him, the door opened in
Shark stumbled into the kitchen, wheezing and wiping the tears from
his eyes.
"That was the funniest thing I've ever seen," he gasped.
"You just thought it was funny 'cuz he wasn't done up like you,"
Thunderwolf said, then grabbed a dish towel off the sink and spun it
in his hands.
"No babe DON'T!" Shark yelped and ran from the room, Thunderwolf in
hot pursuit, snapping the towel at his partner's butt.
As soon as they were gone, a fat, ugly bird with a rubber dorsal fin
tied to it's head looked carefully out, made sure the coast was
clear, and slipped out the back door and into the yard. It waddled
outside to the crumpled body of John Doe and bleated tentatively.
"Im oh-ay," the crumpled body answered. Then John found his
dislocated jaw and popped it back into position. "I'm okay," he
corrected, then set about re-arranging the limbs that Thunderwolf had
tangled before spiking him through the wall.
"Honk?"
"No, my spirit guide, alas I do not have the answers that I seek."
He paused and winced while he set the compound fracture in his right
thigh. "But I feel I've been given a portion of it. I was wrong to
assume that a person is wise by right of what they are. Rather, it
is what people do that makes them wise. I must seek a master that is
in touch with his innermost being, a perceiver who records and
interprets reality in new and original ways. Therefore, heeding the
advice of mighty Thunderwolf, I shall disregard the shadowy images of
television and pursue an older path."
"This time, I shall seek out...an artist!"
To Be Continued.