Dinosaurs Fanfic: Scavenging Pangaea (PG-13)

[The Count]

Huh? What happened to Mezumi? *Honks horn to underground subway transport. Sinclair City, and step on it!

 

[RedPiggy]

Oh, I'm sorry, I can only take you as far as the lobby! LOL...

In the Comeback King, it's assumed Mizumi's eaten by the Scavengers.
...

But WAS she?

 

[The Count]

Well... Don't you know? You're the author.
Oh yeah... More please!

 

[RedPiggy]

Chapter 3: The Bad Home Movie Horror Story

Sixty million years ago, three dinosaur children

Found themselves searching for utopia.
Just yesterday, a home video camera
Was found deep in a pit.
To create a media circus and propel
Us to fame and fortune,
We will now publish this video
Without any thought for accuracy
And verification….​

[A thin balding man with brown hair, wearing a khaki safari outfit, stands near a sign deep in the woods that says “This way: Montana. The Other Way: Canada, eh?” He smiles at the camera.]

Man: (with British accent) Welcome to this edition of Digging Our Past. I’m Sir David Tushingham, callously shilling this video to the Thick Yellow Parallelogram Society, a respectful society of tinkerers and naturalists devoted to airing any little ol’ thing on their network. I was out camping yesterday and came across a remarkable find. Naturally, something this vital should not wait for tedious ‘peer reviews’ and ‘investigations’. [Tushingham steps away from the sign. Camera follows him to a nearby small campsite with two yellow tents, a campfire pit in the middle of the site, and a table where an elderly Caucasian man with thin gray hair is tinkering with a beat-up-looking home video camera, connecting it to a small television set.] Let us now discover remarkable secrets of our past, with the help of my skillful colleague, Mr. Christian. (taps Mr. Christian on the shoulder) Are we ready, Mr. Christian?

[Mr. Christian, wearing a bright orange jacket and dark clothing, finishes tinkering around with the internal workings of the camera and presses the ‘power’ button. He doesn’t even look up.]

Mr. Christian: (proudly in an American accent, though somewhat fatigued) I think it’s about ready, Sir Tushingham. (nods) Yes, I think it should work now.

[The monitor shows an uneven blurring, as though the camera is being handled roughly. After a few moments, the image of a five-foot-tall (or so) green ceratopsian bipedal dinosaur crunches through a mixture of snow and ash up to its calves, wearing a dark blue parka, thick woolen yellow mittens, and a knitted tail-warmer with boldly colored designs. It is barely holding a heavily wrapped smaller pink dinosaur with a turtle-like beak, pink skin, and dark purple spots along its tail. The camera’s image bounces slightly with the steps of the unseen videographer.]

Green dinosaur: (irritatingly, young female voice) Ugh, you know, kid, there’s no reason you can’t walk.

Little pink dinosaur: (insanely high-pitched voice, cheerful) I’m the baby … gotta carry me! (Green dinosaur drops baby with a fwoosh in the snow) (sharply) Hey! (pauses) Charlene! Gotta carry me!

Charlene: You’re four years old –

Unseen videographer: (scratchy teen male voice) – five years old, remember, sis?

Charlene: (sighs exasperatedly) Right! So Baby’s five years old … which means the little whiner can walk on his own. (turns around, glaring at the unseen videographer, shaking a mittened finger at Baby, who is staring at her like he’s about to wail) Unless you want to carry him for about six hours, Robbie, you need to keep your sorry little tail out of this!

[Video cuts to a shot looking down at three young dinosaurs from what seems to be a large carcass. Charlene and Baby are busy snacking on stringy meat beside a campfire, while a tall lanky green male dinosaur with a Mohawk made of pale green flexible spikes and wearing a bright red ski jacket and dark blue leg warmers, uses a small machete to hack into the unseen belly of the fallen beast.]

Charlene: (smacking her lips) You don’t honestly expect us to sleep in that old rotting swamp monster, do you, Rob?

Baby: I wanna sleep in the rib cage!

Charlene: You would.

Robbie: (stands straight, wiping sweat off his brow) You want to freeze to death when the winds start up tonight? (the others shake their heads) Well, (points at carcass) then we’re sleeping inside him. Besides, it’ll also mask our scent.

Charlene: (shrugs, crossing her arms in indignation) (mockingly) Ooh, yeah … and it also serves to make us seem like stuffing inside a holiday roast!

Baby: (wiping his hands on his jacket, eyes wide) Is it Refrigerator Day again? I want presents!

Robbie: (turns to face Baby, voice low-key) The present will be surviving until we get to our destination.

Baby: (long pause, flat affect) That’s cheap…. (short pause, holding hand out) Fifty-dollar minimum! I’m the baby … gotta pay me!

[Tushingham and Christian, hunched over in front of the television, glance at each other in disbelief.]

Mr. Christian: (to Tushingham) Is this what I think this is?

Sir Tushingham: (eyes wide, breathless) It’s … it’s –

Mr. Christian: (turning his back, irritated) – it’s a pirated children’s show. We interrupted our wolf study for a bunch of people dressed up as dinosaurs!

Sir Tushingham: (astounded, incredulous) How can you say such a vile thing, Jerome? This is a primary source of information regarding the fate of fascinating creatures! I’ve waited my entire career for something this juicy!

Mr. Christian: (skeptically, staring at Tushingham) Dinosaurs with video cameras? Come on, David. (points at screen) The little pink one is a thinly veiled parody of Godzilla’s son, Minya … it’s not even a real species!

Sir Tushingham: Were you there?

[The video cuts to a barely lit interior, with ribs visible arching over the three young huddling dinosaurs. The sound of wind rushing past the abdominal opening pervade the audio track.]

Charlene: D- do you think we’ll really be safe in here?

Robbie: (nods) Don’t be such a wuss, sis. Of course, we’re safe.

[Unintelligible whispers punctuate the wail of wind, making the three shudder even more. Barely detectable lights appear and disappear in the distance.]

Charlene: (elbows Robbie, whispers) Robbie? I … I don’t think we’re alone anymore.

Baby: (shudders) D- do you think they eat … babies?

Charlene: (cocking an eyebrow, dryly) You’re a toddler, not a baby. “Baby” is just your name, you know.

[Footsteps crunching through the snow can be heard. The siblings look in multiple directions, as though they are surrounded.]

Robbie: (whispers, trying to sound confident) It sounds like there’s about ten of them. I think we’re all going to die.

Charlene: (sighs, sarcastic) Way to be the alpha male, Rob.

Robbie: (glances irritatingly at Charlene) I don’t see you going out there, guns blazing, you know.

[Sir David Tushingham and Jerome Christian are flinging camping supplies at each other.]

Christian: You 1-900 hack! (ducks as a can of beans flies just over his head)

Tushingham: (dodges a notebook) You are so incredibly ungrateful! I didn’t have to (gets hit by a microphone) hire you, you know!

Christian: (points angrily at television) I didn’t need your correspondence course to appreciate the scientific method, David! I’ve been in archaeology since before you waddled out of your crib!

Tushingham: (scoffing) Ha! Some scientist! You talk so much about magical rodents … you should wheel yourself into a center for the senile!

Christian: Oh yeah?

Tushingham: Yeah!

[An angular head at the end of a thick neck peers into the carcass opening. Just as the silhouetted head is about to turn toward Robbie and Charlene, who cower deeper within the cavity, the head rears back, bellowing in pain, smacking the ceiling of the beast.]

Unseen deep male voice: Wait, wait, kid! We’re on your side!

[The head jerks back out of the opening. Moments later, Baby is flung into the back “wall” of the carcass.]

Baby: (shakes head, eyes lighting up in joy) Again!

[A lit cigarette lighter, held by a purple hand clad in a black leather jacket, appears through the opening. The owner of the angular head reappears as well.]

Robbie and Charlene: Spike!

 

[The Count]

*Laughing at the fight between Doc and Sir Tushingham. Yeah, put me down for $5 on Doc. Especially when Turkeyham got the group's name wrong... It's the North American Society of Tinkerers.
Fascinating new angle you've put on the central narrative, showing it to us via video recording.

Please, more post you should.

 

[RedPiggy]

Well, actually, it was a jab at National Geographic, which uses a thick yellow rectangle as its icon. I used a more literal description of the Society (and, I DO respect National Geographic ... but sometimes, the stuff they put on their channel ...)

I think I've figured out Dinosaurs' writing style. They seem to go off on tangents like I do ... when I can't come up with a dramatic way of making the story continue.

 

[The Count]

Ah... But that's the old Muppet writing maxim. When you're stuck and don't know how to end... Either blow something up, have someone eat something or some other character, or think of something silly like throwing penguins in the air. Trust me, it works.
*Fires penguin cannon at Kelly.

 

[RedPiggy]

Ah, that explains a lot.

 

[The Count]

*Pickets for an update! Want more story... Post, please, now!

 

[RedPiggy]

Writer's block ... and addicted to Sims.