Fic: The Applicant (Animaniacs)
Jan. 2nd, 2019 11:25 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bookishwenchThis was written for Yuletide 2018 for foxtwin.
Finding a job is hard at the best of times, but for a highly qualified nurse, it's even worse.
No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is made from this fic.
The Applicant
The dull thud of a newspaper smacking against the dingy apartment door woke her, as it usually did, starting the day with a sense of grim determination. Today would be the day. She was sure of it. Otherwise, she had only enough rent to last out the week, and after that, well, the prospect of going back home to the little backwater town of Pokeberry in Delaware was enough to make her shudder.
Every person in town had predicted she would fail. She should just settle down, they said, find a nice man to marry (she was certainly attractive enough to have her pick), and have a large family while cleaning, cooking, and maintaining her figure. Her getting a degree in nursing had been considered laughable. Graduating at the top of her class with a couple of degrees on the side had been frankly embarrassing to the good citizens of Pokeberry, who thought it was obvious she’d been built for other things, and her not knowing that made her very, very abnormal.
She’d left, headed for Burbank, California, and sun and a new career and a life that didn’t center around constantly telling everyone, even complete strangers, that yes, she actually could add 2 + 2 correctly, that in fact she was competent in a wide variety of things other than the correct application of eyeshadow. Not that she wasn’t darn good with a mascara wand. The one thing she hadn’t counted on was how hard it was going to be to find a job.
She stumbled out of bed and opened the door, grabbing the newspaper almost defiantly, and flipped to the Help Wanted section. Two ads she’d already tried answering were still there, asking for someone with significantly lower credentials than her own, but she had been passed over.
“Sweetheart,” the first doctor had said, “we’ve already got paddles to get the patients’ hearts going again, so you’d just be a really pretty copy.”
“Redundancy,” she’d said, standing from the chair and watching as he continued to stare a good foot lower than her face. “At least if you’re going to insult me, use a better vocabulary.”
She’d strutted out of that office, slamming the door on the creepy pig with a medical degree whom she knew, without bothering to look, was eyeing her behind as she left.
For the second interview, she’d attempted toning it down: no makeup, hair in a bun, flats instead of heels, skirt hitting her ankles, and a turtleneck, which looked ridiculous in Burbank in July. She felt like she was a fake, trying to be someone else just so she wouldn’t be passed over again, but on the other hand, she needed to eat. It hadn’t worked. Even if she’d worn a potato sack, her figure would have been obvious, and this time she’d ended the interview by slapping the doctor and stomping out the door, nearly shattering the glass in it as she left. She’d gone back to her apartment and cried for a solid hour before eating a cold can of soup and going to sleep.
That had been two weeks ago. There had been other attempts, more than she cared to count, and none of them had ended in a job. Today, as she ate some saltines with peanut butter and pored over the want ads, nothing seemed to pop out. She stared out the tiny window at a squirrel sitting in the stunted tree that made up her view, seriously considering whether she should try waitressing again as she had in college. She’d always gotten good tips, but that wasn’t why she’d come here.
“Yo, you,” the squirrel said, tapping on the window. “Why so glum?”
She blinked. How exactly had she missed that the squirrel was wearing a hat and carrying a handbag?
“Oh, uh,” she said, trying to recover from the shock of talking to a squirrel, “just trying to find a job.”
“As what?” the squirrel said, squatting down on the branch and starting to rummage through her purse.
“A nurse,” she said.
The squirrel looked up, obviously startled, the yellow flower on her hat wobbling.
“Let me guess,” she said, frowning at the familiar reaction. “You thought I wanted to be a fashion model or a Playboy bunny or something.”
“Huh? Oh, no, I just forgot I had this in here,” the squirrel said, pulling a full-sized buffalo from the purse and dropping it unceremoniously to the ground ten feet below where it emitted an indignant moo. “No wonder this thing was so heavy.”
She blinked in surprise, and the squirrel gave her a knowing grin.
“It might not be readily apparent anymore to the casual observer, but I was quite a dish in my prime,” the squirrel said. “It was fun, but yeah, old time Hollywood wasn’t exactly feminist central. I got more than my fair share of assumptions about my IQ from my swimsuit size. You probably still get the same, right?”
“Do I ever,” she said.
“I’m Slappy. What’s your name, kid?” the squirrel asked.
“Heloise,” she said. “I’d invite you in for breakfast, but all I have is crackers and peanut butter.”
“Are you kidding me? That’s my all-time favorite, well, right behind Fig Dough Surprise, but that’s more my colon’s proclivity,” Slappy said, scrambling through the window. “I love peanut butter so much I named my nephew Skippy after it. Don’t tell him that, though. He thinks his name is Yiddish for ‘stunningly handsome prince.’”
Heloise giggled and handed her half a dozen crackers slathered with peanut butter.
“Ah, the good stuff. Creamy, not crunchy. Real quality. That right there is better than any of that caviar garbage,” Slappy said, closing her eyes in bliss as she chewed. “Heloise, I tell you what. I’m going to point you at a potential nursing job. How do you feel about kids?”
“I like kids fine,” she said.
“Well, the Warners will cure you of that in five seconds flat,” Slappy said with a chuckle. “Ever do any psychiatric work?”
“Yes,” she said. “I did some of my classes in a psychiatric unit.”
“Then you might just be perfect,” Slappy said, wiping her paws on her handbag. “The only trick is the dear old doc might not know he actually needs some help yet.”
“What hospital?” she asked.
“No hospital. The Warner Brothers Studio,” Slappy said. “Three siblings who were locked in a water tower for the last few decades just got released, and let’s just say they have a lot of pent up energy that needs redirection.”
“Why were they locked in a water tower?” she asked, looking appalled.
“Cuz the studio execs thought the wine cellar wouldn’t be appropriate for three kids, even if they are wacko. And Yakko. And Dot. Oh, and seriously, do not call her Dotty. It won’t end well,” Slappy said as she gnawed on another cracker.
“So how old are they now?” she asked.
“About seven, give or take,” Slappy said with a shrug.
“But you said they were locked up for decades,” Heloise said, looking puzzled. “How can they be seven?”
Slappy gave her a meaningful look and said, “Because. That’s why.”
They both looked at a random fourth wall with significant expressions and continued their conversation as though nothing had happened.
“So, you game, Helo?” Slappy said, wiping the crumbs from her hands on her knee fur.
“Yes,” she said, looking determined. “Yes, I am.”
“Okay, kid, I’ll let Dr. Scratchansniff know to expect you around ten o’clock,” Slappy said, crawling back out the window. “Don’t be late. You know how doctors hate to be kept waiting, something they would never, ever do to patients. Except for that they do that. Good luck.”
“Thank you so much,” she said, smiling as the squirrel left.
“Oh,” Slappy said, turning around, “by the way, you remind me of a very young Thelma Ritter. See ya.”
Heloise spent the next hour trying to pull herself together for an interview, getting all her paperwork in order, choosing the right dress, going over the usual questions and answers in her mind. She was nervous, but she had a really good feeling about this one. At exactly 9:55, she stood outside of the studio door labeled with Dr. Scratchansniff’s name; whoever had made the sign had run out of space and added the last four letters on a Post-It note written in purple glitter pen.
“Come in,” said someone in a thick Austrian accent.
“Good morning,” Heloise said in her most professional and highly polished manner. “I was told you were looking for a nurse?”
“Yah. You know one?” he asked hopefully.
“I am one,” she said, forcing her smile not to crack.
“Really?” he said, scratching his wild grey hair. “Okay, so, what kind of experience do you got?”
“I graduated a few months ago, but I’ve worked at a variety of hospitals, including a psychiatric unit,” she said, presenting him with a towering stack of credentials, diplomas, letters of recommendation, and assorted papers showing her superior ability in all things medical.
“Hmm, yes,” the doctor said, sifting through the documents. “Very interesting. Highly impressive. All very… wait, you have a degree in nuclear physics, too?”
“Oops, wrong transcript,” she said, tucking it back into her purse.
Dr. Scratchansniff gave her an appraising look, though thankfully not the creepy kind she’d been getting.
“Are you really sure you want to work here? It’s a bit boring. Most of the movie stars have their own psychiatrists, so it tends to be mostly bit players, production staff, best boys, second best boys, runner-up boys, and occasionally Steven Spielberg for some odd reason,” he said. “He has this weird phobia about furniture with legs.”
“And the three siblings from the water tower?” Heloise said.
“No, he’s not afraid of them,” the doctor said.
“No, I mean they’ll be patients as well, right?” she said.
“Yes,” Dr. Scratchansniff said, looking not the least bit concerned. “I suppose Ms. Squirrel told you about them.”
“A little,” she said.
“Well, I don’t anticipate a big problem. They’re just kids. What could be so hard?” he said, shuffling through the papers again. “Okey dokey, let’s give you a try then and see how it goes, though I don’t see why I’m going to need help. I’ll see you tomorrow, Ms. Nurse.”
“Thank you!” Heloise practically squealed as she picked up her massive pile of documents, somehow shoved all of them easily into her tiny purse, and bounced happily out the door.
“Very qualified, and she seems like a nice person,” Scratchansniff mumbled to himself, a habit he would have found highly telling in a patient. “Too bad she’s so skinny.”
As the newest nurse on the Warner Brothers lot all but skipped on her way back to her car, she was suddenly caught in a whirlwind of three small black and white… what were they? Puppies? Kitties? Bunnies?
“Ooof!” she said as she finished pirouetting as though she been caught in a cyclone and tumbled to the ground.
“Gosh, sorry,” said one of them as it stopped and helped her back to her feet. It was wearing a pink skirt and a flower in its hair. Or possibly ears. “My dumb brothers just sort of bowl people over, occasionally with actual bowling balls, so consider yourself lucky.”
“Thank you,” Heloise said, patting the dirt off her skirt.
“Yeah, sorry about tha… whoa,” said another one, staring at her. This one was wearing brown pants hovering so high they were at grandpa level.
“Yah, whoa,” the third one echoed, joining in the gawking. This one had completely foregone pants and was dressed in a blue shirt and red ball cap turned backwards. He also had an unmistakable Liverpool accent.
“Boys,” the girl said, shaking her head in commiseration. “I’m Dot, by the way.”
Heloise’s suspicions had been confirmed, though how only one of them was English was a new question for the ages.
“I’m the new studio nurse,” she said. “My name is Helo—“
“Hello?” the one in the blue shirt asked, interrupting her.
“No, not Hello, it’s Helois—“
“And you’re a nurse?” the one in pants broke in.
“Yes, but it’s—“
“Then Helloooooooooooo Nurse!” the boys chorused together before jumping into her arms, giving her twin kisses on the cheek, and then running off accompanied by wacky music.
She stared after them.
“After being locked up for decades with only their sister and a gigantic poster of Bea Arthur for female companionship, that was actually fairly restrained,” Dot said. “Well, for them at least. Want me to pummel them with a bunch of anvils for ya?”
“Uh, no?” Heloise replied uncertainly.
“Are you sure? It’s loads of fun,” she said, smiling angelically.
“Maybe some other time?” she said.
“’kay. Bye!” Dot said, following after her brothers and getting her own slightly cuter version of their exit music.
Heloise sat down on a nearby bench under a small maple tree near the parking lot and stared after the blurred forms as they raced away, bouncing off the scenery while yelling, “Boingy boingy boingy boingy!”
“This,” Heloise said firmly, “is going to take a strong hand.”
“That’s exactly what I thought,” Slappy said as she dropped out of tree. “Think you’re up to it?”
“Oddly, yes,” she said, no longer even surprised by the arrival of her new friend. “The doctor doesn’t know what he’s in for.”
“The doctor never knows what he’s in for,” Slappy said with a broad grin. “That’s what makes him so entertaining.”
“Are they bouncing off the Batmobile?” Heloise asked as she peered into the distance at the Warners.
“Ooo, Batsy isn’t going to like that one bit, especially if they accidentally deploy the—“
At that moment a loud explosion violently shook the lot, sending one of the soundstages up in flames.
“—rocket launchers,” Slappy said, wincing.
As the flames soared into the Burbank sky, a lone figure was silhouetted against the night (which was odd as it was only about 10:30 in the morning now) atop the soundstage, his cape billowing dramatically in the breeze as the slit-like eyes in his cowl glowed with the fire of revenge. Even from this distance, they could still hear him mutter, “No one touches the rocket launchers. No one.” He then disappeared into the darkness, quite literally, as he somehow took it with him, returning the scene to daylight.
“Is that stage used for anything?” Heloise asked, deciding not to react to the last odd scene but wondering if anyone might be hurt.
“Only Freakazoid,” Slappy said. “It’ll take more than a little explosion to phase that group. They’ve seen worse.”
Heloise looked uncertainly at the massive fire, but as an apparently uninjured blue man in what looked like red long underwear shot past her yelling, “Aw, nut bunnies!” she figured everything was probably under control.
“Well, at least I’ll never be bored here,” Heloise said.
“Now, that is true,” Slappy said. “See you tomorrow at the commissary. They make a great PB and J.”
“See you,” she said as she went back to her car, ignoring the forty foot inferno at the Freakazoid set, deftly side-stepping around a pair of genetically engineered lab mice intent on taking over the world, and then patting a singing stray dog and cat on the head before getting in her car and driving away.
She was going to fit in just fine, and if she didn’t, she could always go back to being a nuclear physicist.
Finding a job is hard at the best of times, but for a highly qualified nurse, it's even worse.
No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is made from this fic.
The dull thud of a newspaper smacking against the dingy apartment door woke her, as it usually did, starting the day with a sense of grim determination. Today would be the day. She was sure of it. Otherwise, she had only enough rent to last out the week, and after that, well, the prospect of going back home to the little backwater town of Pokeberry in Delaware was enough to make her shudder.
Every person in town had predicted she would fail. She should just settle down, they said, find a nice man to marry (she was certainly attractive enough to have her pick), and have a large family while cleaning, cooking, and maintaining her figure. Her getting a degree in nursing had been considered laughable. Graduating at the top of her class with a couple of degrees on the side had been frankly embarrassing to the good citizens of Pokeberry, who thought it was obvious she’d been built for other things, and her not knowing that made her very, very abnormal.
She’d left, headed for Burbank, California, and sun and a new career and a life that didn’t center around constantly telling everyone, even complete strangers, that yes, she actually could add 2 + 2 correctly, that in fact she was competent in a wide variety of things other than the correct application of eyeshadow. Not that she wasn’t darn good with a mascara wand. The one thing she hadn’t counted on was how hard it was going to be to find a job.
She stumbled out of bed and opened the door, grabbing the newspaper almost defiantly, and flipped to the Help Wanted section. Two ads she’d already tried answering were still there, asking for someone with significantly lower credentials than her own, but she had been passed over.
“Sweetheart,” the first doctor had said, “we’ve already got paddles to get the patients’ hearts going again, so you’d just be a really pretty copy.”
“Redundancy,” she’d said, standing from the chair and watching as he continued to stare a good foot lower than her face. “At least if you’re going to insult me, use a better vocabulary.”
She’d strutted out of that office, slamming the door on the creepy pig with a medical degree whom she knew, without bothering to look, was eyeing her behind as she left.
For the second interview, she’d attempted toning it down: no makeup, hair in a bun, flats instead of heels, skirt hitting her ankles, and a turtleneck, which looked ridiculous in Burbank in July. She felt like she was a fake, trying to be someone else just so she wouldn’t be passed over again, but on the other hand, she needed to eat. It hadn’t worked. Even if she’d worn a potato sack, her figure would have been obvious, and this time she’d ended the interview by slapping the doctor and stomping out the door, nearly shattering the glass in it as she left. She’d gone back to her apartment and cried for a solid hour before eating a cold can of soup and going to sleep.
That had been two weeks ago. There had been other attempts, more than she cared to count, and none of them had ended in a job. Today, as she ate some saltines with peanut butter and pored over the want ads, nothing seemed to pop out. She stared out the tiny window at a squirrel sitting in the stunted tree that made up her view, seriously considering whether she should try waitressing again as she had in college. She’d always gotten good tips, but that wasn’t why she’d come here.
“Yo, you,” the squirrel said, tapping on the window. “Why so glum?”
She blinked. How exactly had she missed that the squirrel was wearing a hat and carrying a handbag?
“Oh, uh,” she said, trying to recover from the shock of talking to a squirrel, “just trying to find a job.”
“As what?” the squirrel said, squatting down on the branch and starting to rummage through her purse.
“A nurse,” she said.
The squirrel looked up, obviously startled, the yellow flower on her hat wobbling.
“Let me guess,” she said, frowning at the familiar reaction. “You thought I wanted to be a fashion model or a Playboy bunny or something.”
“Huh? Oh, no, I just forgot I had this in here,” the squirrel said, pulling a full-sized buffalo from the purse and dropping it unceremoniously to the ground ten feet below where it emitted an indignant moo. “No wonder this thing was so heavy.”
She blinked in surprise, and the squirrel gave her a knowing grin.
“It might not be readily apparent anymore to the casual observer, but I was quite a dish in my prime,” the squirrel said. “It was fun, but yeah, old time Hollywood wasn’t exactly feminist central. I got more than my fair share of assumptions about my IQ from my swimsuit size. You probably still get the same, right?”
“Do I ever,” she said.
“I’m Slappy. What’s your name, kid?” the squirrel asked.
“Heloise,” she said. “I’d invite you in for breakfast, but all I have is crackers and peanut butter.”
“Are you kidding me? That’s my all-time favorite, well, right behind Fig Dough Surprise, but that’s more my colon’s proclivity,” Slappy said, scrambling through the window. “I love peanut butter so much I named my nephew Skippy after it. Don’t tell him that, though. He thinks his name is Yiddish for ‘stunningly handsome prince.’”
Heloise giggled and handed her half a dozen crackers slathered with peanut butter.
“Ah, the good stuff. Creamy, not crunchy. Real quality. That right there is better than any of that caviar garbage,” Slappy said, closing her eyes in bliss as she chewed. “Heloise, I tell you what. I’m going to point you at a potential nursing job. How do you feel about kids?”
“I like kids fine,” she said.
“Well, the Warners will cure you of that in five seconds flat,” Slappy said with a chuckle. “Ever do any psychiatric work?”
“Yes,” she said. “I did some of my classes in a psychiatric unit.”
“Then you might just be perfect,” Slappy said, wiping her paws on her handbag. “The only trick is the dear old doc might not know he actually needs some help yet.”
“What hospital?” she asked.
“No hospital. The Warner Brothers Studio,” Slappy said. “Three siblings who were locked in a water tower for the last few decades just got released, and let’s just say they have a lot of pent up energy that needs redirection.”
“Why were they locked in a water tower?” she asked, looking appalled.
“Cuz the studio execs thought the wine cellar wouldn’t be appropriate for three kids, even if they are wacko. And Yakko. And Dot. Oh, and seriously, do not call her Dotty. It won’t end well,” Slappy said as she gnawed on another cracker.
“So how old are they now?” she asked.
“About seven, give or take,” Slappy said with a shrug.
“But you said they were locked up for decades,” Heloise said, looking puzzled. “How can they be seven?”
Slappy gave her a meaningful look and said, “Because. That’s why.”
They both looked at a random fourth wall with significant expressions and continued their conversation as though nothing had happened.
“So, you game, Helo?” Slappy said, wiping the crumbs from her hands on her knee fur.
“Yes,” she said, looking determined. “Yes, I am.”
“Okay, kid, I’ll let Dr. Scratchansniff know to expect you around ten o’clock,” Slappy said, crawling back out the window. “Don’t be late. You know how doctors hate to be kept waiting, something they would never, ever do to patients. Except for that they do that. Good luck.”
“Thank you so much,” she said, smiling as the squirrel left.
“Oh,” Slappy said, turning around, “by the way, you remind me of a very young Thelma Ritter. See ya.”
Heloise spent the next hour trying to pull herself together for an interview, getting all her paperwork in order, choosing the right dress, going over the usual questions and answers in her mind. She was nervous, but she had a really good feeling about this one. At exactly 9:55, she stood outside of the studio door labeled with Dr. Scratchansniff’s name; whoever had made the sign had run out of space and added the last four letters on a Post-It note written in purple glitter pen.
“Come in,” said someone in a thick Austrian accent.
“Good morning,” Heloise said in her most professional and highly polished manner. “I was told you were looking for a nurse?”
“Yah. You know one?” he asked hopefully.
“I am one,” she said, forcing her smile not to crack.
“Really?” he said, scratching his wild grey hair. “Okay, so, what kind of experience do you got?”
“I graduated a few months ago, but I’ve worked at a variety of hospitals, including a psychiatric unit,” she said, presenting him with a towering stack of credentials, diplomas, letters of recommendation, and assorted papers showing her superior ability in all things medical.
“Hmm, yes,” the doctor said, sifting through the documents. “Very interesting. Highly impressive. All very… wait, you have a degree in nuclear physics, too?”
“Oops, wrong transcript,” she said, tucking it back into her purse.
Dr. Scratchansniff gave her an appraising look, though thankfully not the creepy kind she’d been getting.
“Are you really sure you want to work here? It’s a bit boring. Most of the movie stars have their own psychiatrists, so it tends to be mostly bit players, production staff, best boys, second best boys, runner-up boys, and occasionally Steven Spielberg for some odd reason,” he said. “He has this weird phobia about furniture with legs.”
“And the three siblings from the water tower?” Heloise said.
“No, he’s not afraid of them,” the doctor said.
“No, I mean they’ll be patients as well, right?” she said.
“Yes,” Dr. Scratchansniff said, looking not the least bit concerned. “I suppose Ms. Squirrel told you about them.”
“A little,” she said.
“Well, I don’t anticipate a big problem. They’re just kids. What could be so hard?” he said, shuffling through the papers again. “Okey dokey, let’s give you a try then and see how it goes, though I don’t see why I’m going to need help. I’ll see you tomorrow, Ms. Nurse.”
“Thank you!” Heloise practically squealed as she picked up her massive pile of documents, somehow shoved all of them easily into her tiny purse, and bounced happily out the door.
“Very qualified, and she seems like a nice person,” Scratchansniff mumbled to himself, a habit he would have found highly telling in a patient. “Too bad she’s so skinny.”
As the newest nurse on the Warner Brothers lot all but skipped on her way back to her car, she was suddenly caught in a whirlwind of three small black and white… what were they? Puppies? Kitties? Bunnies?
“Ooof!” she said as she finished pirouetting as though she been caught in a cyclone and tumbled to the ground.
“Gosh, sorry,” said one of them as it stopped and helped her back to her feet. It was wearing a pink skirt and a flower in its hair. Or possibly ears. “My dumb brothers just sort of bowl people over, occasionally with actual bowling balls, so consider yourself lucky.”
“Thank you,” Heloise said, patting the dirt off her skirt.
“Yeah, sorry about tha… whoa,” said another one, staring at her. This one was wearing brown pants hovering so high they were at grandpa level.
“Yah, whoa,” the third one echoed, joining in the gawking. This one had completely foregone pants and was dressed in a blue shirt and red ball cap turned backwards. He also had an unmistakable Liverpool accent.
“Boys,” the girl said, shaking her head in commiseration. “I’m Dot, by the way.”
Heloise’s suspicions had been confirmed, though how only one of them was English was a new question for the ages.
“I’m the new studio nurse,” she said. “My name is Helo—“
“Hello?” the one in the blue shirt asked, interrupting her.
“No, not Hello, it’s Helois—“
“And you’re a nurse?” the one in pants broke in.
“Yes, but it’s—“
“Then Helloooooooooooo Nurse!” the boys chorused together before jumping into her arms, giving her twin kisses on the cheek, and then running off accompanied by wacky music.
She stared after them.
“After being locked up for decades with only their sister and a gigantic poster of Bea Arthur for female companionship, that was actually fairly restrained,” Dot said. “Well, for them at least. Want me to pummel them with a bunch of anvils for ya?”
“Uh, no?” Heloise replied uncertainly.
“Are you sure? It’s loads of fun,” she said, smiling angelically.
“Maybe some other time?” she said.
“’kay. Bye!” Dot said, following after her brothers and getting her own slightly cuter version of their exit music.
Heloise sat down on a nearby bench under a small maple tree near the parking lot and stared after the blurred forms as they raced away, bouncing off the scenery while yelling, “Boingy boingy boingy boingy!”
“This,” Heloise said firmly, “is going to take a strong hand.”
“That’s exactly what I thought,” Slappy said as she dropped out of tree. “Think you’re up to it?”
“Oddly, yes,” she said, no longer even surprised by the arrival of her new friend. “The doctor doesn’t know what he’s in for.”
“The doctor never knows what he’s in for,” Slappy said with a broad grin. “That’s what makes him so entertaining.”
“Are they bouncing off the Batmobile?” Heloise asked as she peered into the distance at the Warners.
“Ooo, Batsy isn’t going to like that one bit, especially if they accidentally deploy the—“
At that moment a loud explosion violently shook the lot, sending one of the soundstages up in flames.
“—rocket launchers,” Slappy said, wincing.
As the flames soared into the Burbank sky, a lone figure was silhouetted against the night (which was odd as it was only about 10:30 in the morning now) atop the soundstage, his cape billowing dramatically in the breeze as the slit-like eyes in his cowl glowed with the fire of revenge. Even from this distance, they could still hear him mutter, “No one touches the rocket launchers. No one.” He then disappeared into the darkness, quite literally, as he somehow took it with him, returning the scene to daylight.
“Is that stage used for anything?” Heloise asked, deciding not to react to the last odd scene but wondering if anyone might be hurt.
“Only Freakazoid,” Slappy said. “It’ll take more than a little explosion to phase that group. They’ve seen worse.”
Heloise looked uncertainly at the massive fire, but as an apparently uninjured blue man in what looked like red long underwear shot past her yelling, “Aw, nut bunnies!” she figured everything was probably under control.
“Well, at least I’ll never be bored here,” Heloise said.
“Now, that is true,” Slappy said. “See you tomorrow at the commissary. They make a great PB and J.”
“See you,” she said as she went back to her car, ignoring the forty foot inferno at the Freakazoid set, deftly side-stepping around a pair of genetically engineered lab mice intent on taking over the world, and then patting a singing stray dog and cat on the head before getting in her car and driving away.
She was going to fit in just fine, and if she didn’t, she could always go back to being a nuclear physicist.
