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Redsonga
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Author's Note:
This whole idea came about from thinking too much about something someone, who I am very grateful to, said about Boober not being like other fraggles, and why maybe, he might be like the Boober we all know and love today. I guess you could call this a sort of background story of Boober, or a Christmas story, or a Festival of The Bells story, or a story story. Again, it is more that a bit depressing and sad, but maybe then, that is part of the stories heart in itself. This is set many years before Song Of A Midnight Place, not long after the end of the series...
Those Of The Black Snow
By Alicorn (aka Redsonga aka Alicornmoon )
*****************
Prologue
*****************
The room that glowed with the soft light tiny bulbs all colors of the rainbow in the novelty shape of chill peppers was very welcoming as dark unoccupied rooms went.
It smelled of sawdust and grease, and tasted of that new unmistakable dusty cosiness of a well used workspace.
It had the look of a freshly redesigned home, with a work-breach and rocking chair at one end, and a worn dog bed at the other, overflowing with all the unashamed trappings and toys of a very happy spoiled pet.
The only flaw in this room, in fact, was a gapping hole in a side wall. The hole was large and ragged around the edges, looking as if it had always been there, made by some family of dust-bowl age oversized rats bent on termite like destruction.
If one looked close enough at it to, they might even see a flash of color and the notes of a faint melody.
But this hole if anyone asked, (and they were not in the habit of taking any time out of their busy lives for singing holes in walls) was only a few months old.
Even more oddly, the hole happened to have what seemed to be a homemade kindergarten style cubby hole consulted right against the corner next to it.
But then, the owner of this particular room was known to be a little particular himself…
"I can't believe it Sprocket, of all the crazy mad houses!"
The chill pepper lights jingled slightly on their stings at the steer force of the door being flung open in rage. The sound of a dog's tried whimper carried in on the cold night air, followed quickly by the thud of wood on flooring.
"You'd think half of Arizona had put off Christmas shopping until the last week…!"
The older man, wearing an odd mix of a long sleeved dress shirt and flip-flops with shorts bustled into the doorway in a fluster, his grey hair tossed and his glasses as-cue as if he had just been in a small scale war.
An old gray and white sheepdog scampered at a well practiced pace between the man's legs, and sat down at a safe distance.
"And would you look at this tree? Just look at it!" Doc exclaimed, pounding the offending tree base on the workshop floor with all the dramatic flare of putting a flag down to clam a mountain.
The tree was barely four feet tall, not counting a broken top limb, with long finger-like branches spaced few and far between, covered with pale green needles that were interrupted every half foot or so with patches of yellowish brown.
"Downright puny, isn't it?"
Sprocket barked in agreement, reaching out to sniff the tree tentivly and recoiling with a yelp as his slight movement was met with a shower of falling pine needles atop his nose. He gave it a last huff of disapproval, and turned to dig in a bag of odds and ends the man had just set down from his other arm as he continued to rant.
"Why, back home we use to use trees this size for kenneling…"
In the background the dogs tail wagged happily as he sent a shower of tinsel and blightly colored plastic globes up in the air and just a quickly stopped, his tail at sharp attention.
" …not highway robbery at $50 a pop…"
Sprocket paced up to his owner's legs at a proud skip holding something in his mouth, and tugged at the nearest neon green hem of Doc's shorts.
"What is it now Sprocket?" Doc grumbled, in the process of picking up a plastic globe from the floor and trying to hang it, without much success, on the small tree.
"Row-ro!" The sheepdog replied, in a growl that almost sounded human, letting the man take piece of paper from between his teeth.
"Oh, another postcard for Gobo?" Doc took a passing glance at the picture on it's side, the shape of what looked like a grand old castle on a cliffside, before handing it back in the direction of his dog.
"Germany this time.. certainly does get around..Just put it other there in his mailbox …"
Sprocket shook his head and barked, pushing it back to the old inventor with a hopeful whimper.
"Hm? Oh you want me to read it to you?" Doc eyed the hole in the wall for a moment before using the postcards side to block a whisper.
"Why Sprocky, don't you know it's rude to read other people's mail?"
He happened to glance at the words on the card just then, eyes wide as he reached for his reading glasses.
"Say..that's my name there, isn't it?"
Sprocket wagged his tail and panted with a smug smile, leaning in with the same curious expression as his master, as he began to read.
Dear Nephew Gobo,
Once again it is the season of the Wish Granting Creature and Food Cooking In Front of an Open Fire here in Outer Space.
The other day, I discovered that in some parts of this world the Wish Granting Creature will provide you with this cooked food himself if you are silly enough to leave your shoes out unsupervised overnight.
Let this be a lesson to you Gobo: Always look before you step.. into… shoes. The results may not be as tasty for your feet.
Ah hum, however and furthermore, I miss you all more than ever in this season, and wish you could share in the crumbs of my successes. May your bells ring loudly!
P.S.
Please thank Jerome for informing me of the true use for "money". While it makes sense in a silly way, I still think it benefits everyone in this world a bit more in fountains.
Love, Your Uncle Traveling Matt
"Hm, well, to each his own I guess." Doc remarked with a shrug, slipping the postcard into the cubby by the hole as Sprocket began to scoop up the many Christmas globes on the floor.
"Funny thing Sprocket, how the holidays always make us think of family far away.." The inventor mused, easing down into is favorite rocking chair in front of the sickly Christmas tree.
His dog pawed away, rearranging a blanket of cotton at the tree's base and slowly, ever so slowly, placing a globe with his teeth near it's top.
The tree bowed with a loud creaking sound to the left under the weight of the single piece of plastic, sprinkling a new shower of dead pine-needles on Sprocket's nose.
"I wonder what Ms. Ardath is doing Sprocky?" Doc said, gazing at the single shiny red globe with eyes that looked to be hundreds of miles away somewhere in his mind.
"Do you think she and Marigold even think of us anymore..?"
Sprocket let out a depressed whimper as he lay down in his bed, staring at the same bulb from below his shaggy eyebrows.
This whole idea came about from thinking too much about something someone, who I am very grateful to, said about Boober not being like other fraggles, and why maybe, he might be like the Boober we all know and love today. I guess you could call this a sort of background story of Boober, or a Christmas story, or a Festival of The Bells story, or a story story. Again, it is more that a bit depressing and sad, but maybe then, that is part of the stories heart in itself. This is set many years before Song Of A Midnight Place, not long after the end of the series...
Those Of The Black Snow
By Alicorn (aka Redsonga aka Alicornmoon )
*****************
Prologue
*****************
The room that glowed with the soft light tiny bulbs all colors of the rainbow in the novelty shape of chill peppers was very welcoming as dark unoccupied rooms went.
It smelled of sawdust and grease, and tasted of that new unmistakable dusty cosiness of a well used workspace.
It had the look of a freshly redesigned home, with a work-breach and rocking chair at one end, and a worn dog bed at the other, overflowing with all the unashamed trappings and toys of a very happy spoiled pet.
The only flaw in this room, in fact, was a gapping hole in a side wall. The hole was large and ragged around the edges, looking as if it had always been there, made by some family of dust-bowl age oversized rats bent on termite like destruction.
If one looked close enough at it to, they might even see a flash of color and the notes of a faint melody.
But this hole if anyone asked, (and they were not in the habit of taking any time out of their busy lives for singing holes in walls) was only a few months old.
Even more oddly, the hole happened to have what seemed to be a homemade kindergarten style cubby hole consulted right against the corner next to it.
But then, the owner of this particular room was known to be a little particular himself…
"I can't believe it Sprocket, of all the crazy mad houses!"
The chill pepper lights jingled slightly on their stings at the steer force of the door being flung open in rage. The sound of a dog's tried whimper carried in on the cold night air, followed quickly by the thud of wood on flooring.
"You'd think half of Arizona had put off Christmas shopping until the last week…!"
The older man, wearing an odd mix of a long sleeved dress shirt and flip-flops with shorts bustled into the doorway in a fluster, his grey hair tossed and his glasses as-cue as if he had just been in a small scale war.
An old gray and white sheepdog scampered at a well practiced pace between the man's legs, and sat down at a safe distance.
"And would you look at this tree? Just look at it!" Doc exclaimed, pounding the offending tree base on the workshop floor with all the dramatic flare of putting a flag down to clam a mountain.
The tree was barely four feet tall, not counting a broken top limb, with long finger-like branches spaced few and far between, covered with pale green needles that were interrupted every half foot or so with patches of yellowish brown.
"Downright puny, isn't it?"
Sprocket barked in agreement, reaching out to sniff the tree tentivly and recoiling with a yelp as his slight movement was met with a shower of falling pine needles atop his nose. He gave it a last huff of disapproval, and turned to dig in a bag of odds and ends the man had just set down from his other arm as he continued to rant.
"Why, back home we use to use trees this size for kenneling…"
In the background the dogs tail wagged happily as he sent a shower of tinsel and blightly colored plastic globes up in the air and just a quickly stopped, his tail at sharp attention.
" …not highway robbery at $50 a pop…"
Sprocket paced up to his owner's legs at a proud skip holding something in his mouth, and tugged at the nearest neon green hem of Doc's shorts.
"What is it now Sprocket?" Doc grumbled, in the process of picking up a plastic globe from the floor and trying to hang it, without much success, on the small tree.
"Row-ro!" The sheepdog replied, in a growl that almost sounded human, letting the man take piece of paper from between his teeth.
"Oh, another postcard for Gobo?" Doc took a passing glance at the picture on it's side, the shape of what looked like a grand old castle on a cliffside, before handing it back in the direction of his dog.
"Germany this time.. certainly does get around..Just put it other there in his mailbox …"
Sprocket shook his head and barked, pushing it back to the old inventor with a hopeful whimper.
"Hm? Oh you want me to read it to you?" Doc eyed the hole in the wall for a moment before using the postcards side to block a whisper.
"Why Sprocky, don't you know it's rude to read other people's mail?"
He happened to glance at the words on the card just then, eyes wide as he reached for his reading glasses.
"Say..that's my name there, isn't it?"
Sprocket wagged his tail and panted with a smug smile, leaning in with the same curious expression as his master, as he began to read.
Dear Nephew Gobo,
Once again it is the season of the Wish Granting Creature and Food Cooking In Front of an Open Fire here in Outer Space.
The other day, I discovered that in some parts of this world the Wish Granting Creature will provide you with this cooked food himself if you are silly enough to leave your shoes out unsupervised overnight.
Let this be a lesson to you Gobo: Always look before you step.. into… shoes. The results may not be as tasty for your feet.
Ah hum, however and furthermore, I miss you all more than ever in this season, and wish you could share in the crumbs of my successes. May your bells ring loudly!
P.S.
Please thank Jerome for informing me of the true use for "money". While it makes sense in a silly way, I still think it benefits everyone in this world a bit more in fountains.
Love, Your Uncle Traveling Matt
"Hm, well, to each his own I guess." Doc remarked with a shrug, slipping the postcard into the cubby by the hole as Sprocket began to scoop up the many Christmas globes on the floor.
"Funny thing Sprocket, how the holidays always make us think of family far away.." The inventor mused, easing down into is favorite rocking chair in front of the sickly Christmas tree.
His dog pawed away, rearranging a blanket of cotton at the tree's base and slowly, ever so slowly, placing a globe with his teeth near it's top.
The tree bowed with a loud creaking sound to the left under the weight of the single piece of plastic, sprinkling a new shower of dead pine-needles on Sprocket's nose.
"I wonder what Ms. Ardath is doing Sprocky?" Doc said, gazing at the single shiny red globe with eyes that looked to be hundreds of miles away somewhere in his mind.
"Do you think she and Marigold even think of us anymore..?"
Sprocket let out a depressed whimper as he lay down in his bed, staring at the same bulb from below his shaggy eyebrows.
. Like I said in the author's note, it is sort of a story of a story in a way, I just hope it is not too sad in the end...It does have a silly creature song or two, but there is a good reason for that 
! I was beginning to worry no one liked my idea for a moment, I know I am out of season, but I know many of you love Boober like I do :3. I guess it will be my Christmas in July fic *lol* I fixed the spelling of my fixable copies on other sites...
