Fan Fic - Visions, but only illusions...

[theprawncracker]

Awww...Oh well Beau, I can wait for more! And I'm planning on starting a new fic soon, if I ever finsh RoE's comenntary...

 

[TogetherAgain]

Now I know, you've been taking a break... I'm just sort of, you know... reminding you that this exists...

 

[Beauregard]

It does? I mean! Of coruse it does!!! Gosh, how could I forget about this story..there's so much yet to come, with her, and him, and that bit on the whatsit, and then the ending at the...

Ooh!

 

[Effralyo]

Grr, I wish I smash that rotten gorgsmash kyrdaggo that dare to touch Cliffy!
(Just to let y`know, Ga`dee, see you at 25th. I`m going to post new pix plus a chapter of PMH that will perhaps make everyone to feel sympathise to Cliff. And as for his pic, I certainly dun`mind. Though his lip isn`t split in there.)

 

[Vic Romano]

Wow! Excellent stuff, man... really excellent stuff... wow!

 

[Beauregard]

You know what....after....about...6 months? Is that an exageration? I am finally back here with more story...I have finished it all, so be nce and get more

Let me say, it's set in the dark universe, so it's not going to be nice, and it is going to be intense. One character we love may die, but it's not graffic. Still, there is definatly a lot of intence moment. So, hold onto your hat, and away we go!!!

For those who forget the beginning, read back!

Beauuuuuuuuuuu

 

[TogetherAgain]

HALLELUJAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

BEAU, I SEVERELY GLOMP YOU FOR THIS! Now please post, please, please, pretty please, with sugar and cherries and muffins and bagels and penguins on top?!? ...I'm not sure what they're on top of... Maybe they're on top of "please"... Peas? Fleas? Ew.

Anyway, YAY!!!!!!!!!!!! <Impatiently waits for post>

 

[Beauregard]

Visions: Chapter whatever: After...

Clifford cracked his knuckles, and leant back in the thick seat, a red telephone receiver held lightly in his hand. “Man, now, I’m talkin’ big bucks, are you in or out? Holy cow, man, you was in before? So what! I mean, you let a little spook scare ya? Oh, yeah, I’m forgetting about the busted leg. Good luck with that, man. Bye then.” He hung up, glanced at Gonzo.

Gonzo looked away, and busied himself re-sorting the papers. He was packing them into piles that reached exactly eight inches high, then cutting off and starting another. Fozzie wrung his hands, and licked his lips. Gonzo tried to catch his eye. He touched his hand instead. It’ll be ok. Just wait. Trust me.

Fozzie closed his eyes, and lifted a bank-sheet. He started at it without recognition, then passed it across to Gonzo.

Clifford raised an eyebrow.

*****​

The night fell, lowering a cold darkness over the dirty yellow snow that covered the streets. Through the broken door, etchings of frost crept into the room. Clifford flipped through a leather address book. A desk lamp, switched on above the desk lit his face. Fozzie shivered, and Gonzo’s eyes flicked from the door to Clifford, and back.

Two days to get proof to the ghouls. His time was almost up. He should have asked for more. “We should be…” Gonzo started.

Clifford held up one finger, and dialled out. “Yeah, Joe, it’s meh. I’m callin’ about work.”

Fozzie glanced at Gonzo. Gonzo shook his head imperceptibly. Fozzie shifted his feet.

“Yeah, bye then.” Clifford dropped the receiver, and scrawled something next to an entry in his book.

Gonzo cleared his throat. “Cliff? Mr, um, Bandersmatch, we have a long walk and, thought, maybe we should be going?”

Clifford looked at them through dreads that hung by his eyes. “I don’t think so,” he said.

Fozzie stiffened.

Clifford went on. It was the door, he explained. That was all. If they left it half the robbers in the town would be all over it by dawn. They’d all stay. He’d keep ringing for work. They’d keep organising.

“No, no, no,” Fozzie shock his head slowly. “No. No! We can’t stay here, we can’t.”

Clifford stopped with his fingers halted above the telephone. Something in his face changed, a silent question mark forming between his eyebrows. “And why not exactly?” he asked.

“Because,” Fozzie said. “Because…”

“Fish-thrower!” said a female voice from the doorway. She stood silhouetted against the darkness, an arm outstretched, finger point at Cliff. “Fish-throwing penguin-sniffing, little…no, good,” she paused, as if gathering herself for a worse insult. Finally she spat, “Toe-rag.”

Clifford’s face dropped. “Oh no…”

*****​

She swung her thick red hair back, and stepped over the broken door. A light sweater hung off an athletic body. Glasses framed her eyes, and her mouth was turned down in a pout. “And why did you not come after me?” she asked. “Hello, I walked out of this place.” She turned a wolfish grin on Gonzo and Fozzie. “You must be the newbies? May I introduce, Clifford? My Ex-employer. Word of warning, when he says he loves the work you’re doing, he’s about to ask you for a favour.”

Fozzie started to say something, then stopped as she went on.

“Oh, and if he ever says that he loves you, which I doubt under the circumstances, he means you have very nice...never mind.”

Clifford cleared his throat. “Skeeter, can we discuss this-”

“Feel free.”

“-elsewhere?”

Skeeter’s face cracked in a smile. “Embarrassing you?”

“I’ll pretend your not.” He looked at Fozzie and Gonzo. “Excuse us.” And then grabbed Skeeter’s wrist, and pulled her through into the next room.

“Who…?” Fozzie began.

“Leave it,” Gonzo said. “Let’s get this stuff, and get out of here.”

“Stuff…?”

“The photo. The details. Uncle Deadly wants evidence that they are coming. We’ll give it to him. Prove they are going to take our home.”

Fozzie shifted around on the desk, and found the photograph of their site. Theirs. “And what then?”

“Then, we may have to fight for it.”

*****​

Uncle Deadly was speaking. The creatures hung on his words, large and small, hooded, fury, feathered, or scaled, they crept around him as his spoke. The fur of the larger ones brushed against the stone roof of the dripping cave.

“I am not afraid of them,” Uncle Deadly said, pointing his clawed blue finger out, forward, towards no one in particular. “We will not live afraid of them. They shall be driven out, driven away. This is our home, I believe that, I believe that we can do this thing.”

A shaggy furred creature with glowing eyes, raised his hand. “What if they hurt us,” he said. “What if we get poked?”

“If they hurt us,” Uncle Deadly replied. “We will certainly hurt them.”

Suddenly, a scream broke from the back of the room. “What is…th-th-that!?”

Uncle Deadly frowned, deeply. “Lenny, shut up fast.” He turned to where the Lizard-like creature was pointing, and came face to face with Fozzie. “What are you doing here?” Uncle D snarled. “How did you come in here?”

“We used…the door?” Fozzie suggested.

Gonzo moved past him, up close to Uncle Deadly. “We got what you asked for,” he said. “But you were not honest with us. You didn’t say that the man were here before, that you scared them away once.”

“I…” Uncle Deadly snarled.

Gonzo pushed the pieces of paper at Uncle Deadly’s face. “Photo, notes. They’re taking this place, Uncle Deadly.”

“We will fight them.”

“They will win.”

“How do you know this?”

“I know humans,” Gonzo said. “You do not.”

“Then help us,” Uncle Deadly snapped back, fast.

Gonzo took a step back. “Us help you?”

“Yes. You know humans. You have dreams, and ideas. Things that we creatures of darkness may never have.”

Fozzie was shaking his head. Gonzo’s eyes moved. Uncle Deadly stared straight into them.

Suddenly, Gonzo’s hand shot forward, and they shook. Deathly cold hand against warm fur.

*****​

“No,” Fozzie said. “Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“Gonzo, they’re…” He took a packet of crackers from somewhere, and proceeded to open them. “They are…monsters. How can we help people like them?”

“We’re all monsters, Fozzie. Inside. We are just as ugly as they, and have a firey temper ready to attack us when we least expect it too. I know it…”

“But…”

“What is your monster, Fozzie?”

“I…” Fozzie fell silent. He pulled crackers from the packet, and nibbled around the edges, turning it around and around until he had eaten the whole thing. “Jealousy,” he said eventually. “I get jealous, horribly jealous. Of stars. So much fame. And I’m just…me.”

“But if you were a star, you wouldn’t be you,” Gonzo said.

“But I could be…happy.”

“Could you?”

Fozzie shrugged. And sighed. He folded the packet, and slipped it away.

“I don’t know, you see,” Gonzo went on. “Won’t we be happiest helping to save a race of creatures their homes?”

“Gonzo, they’re monsters.”

“They still have as much right to a home as you, or, or me.”

Fozzie shook his head, and walked into the trailer. Gonzo lay back and gazed up into the sky, at the stars. He had monsters of his own. But he could hide them. Because he also had a dream.

*****​

The dream was his own. He lay under the trailer, and stared up at the chipped rust of the underneath where Fozzie had picked at the blacked metal. Fozzie. Gonzo turned onto his side and looked at the dry mud. Fozzie was hurting, inside. But Gonzo believed, he believed that helping the creatures would help them to defeat their own monsters, get that dream.

Besides...with the dream, Fozzie could be what he wanted.

Gonzo crawled out from the trailer. He needed stars. He paused, and stopped. Fozzie had beaten him, and was lying with his hands tucked behind his head watching the twinkling lights. “Gonzo,” he said quietly. “I don't have a dream.”

Gonzo crawled over the ground and sat beside him. “Everyone has a dream,” he said. “Don't they?”

Fozzie shook his head. “Sometimes dreams die. And come back only as ghosts. My dream...to be a star.” He smiled, a faded smile. “Like those stars, but the brightest, the most loved, one searched by night like, like the Polaris. A guide to people, and stuff.”

“It's a good dream,” Gonzo said. He lay back, like Fozzie. “Good things don't die.”

Fozzie looked at him. “Yes they do.”

 

[TogetherAgain]

<shudders>

"Yes they do."

Oh, I love the shivers... Oh, I've missed these shivers... Oh, I want MORE shivers! More please, Beau, more please!

 

[Beauregard]

More shivers coming!!! Trust me on that. Lots of lovely slivers of shivers! Especially what I call the "Crane and Rain" scene.

--
Sorry, I have to post more, here have some:

--


Gonzo drifted, floating on a sea of applause. “For my next act...” A tightrope span out in front of him, and white feathers began falling like snow. Gonzo stepped out, off a precipice. And a cannon exploded, ripping him from sleep.

Eyes snapped open. Gonzo sat up, fast. “Visions!” he screamed. The word echoed coldly off construction equipment. Gonzo breath came fast. He calmed it slowly, heaving cold damp night air into his lungs.

“Gonzo?” Fozzie clambered to his feet. “Gonz? You ok?”

“I know why dreams die.” His gaze was intense as he looked into Fozzie's dark eyes. “Dreams are illusions. Like,” he turned to the distance. “Like that, the horizon. You get near, and they disappear. They're not enough.”

Fozzie nodded. “It's late. You should sleep.”

“No. I have to tell you.” He turned back. His face was tight, and yet lost in the wonder of discovery. “Visions,” he said. “Are real.” His finger clenched together, into a fist. Holding his thoughts tight so as not to lose them. “When you see something so clearly that it is right, right there. And you know you will find it.”

“Visions.” Fozzie said the word carefully, and slowly. “Wow.”

“I have a vision,” Gonzo said. He stood up in the dark, and moved back from Fozzie. “A place where you can be who you are, or, who you were, or who you wish you were. A stage for life,” he said, waving his hands towards invisible points like a map. Arches, lights, musicians. He stepped closer, and placed his hand on Fozzie's shoulder. His thumb touched Fozzie's neck. “You are a star,” Gonzo said.

A single tear brushed Fozzie's cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered.

*****​

Gonzo woke. His back ached from lying on the hard ground. He sat up, and bent his neck sideways to get the knots out. Fozzie was curled in a ball on the ground, just under the trailer. Gonzo didn't have the heart to wake him. He stretched, and frowned,

Something was wrong.

A sound of an engine idling. Gonzo stepped towards the sound, stopped, and froze. There, out of the edge of his eye was someone, perched on the top of a pile of cracked tiles.

Thick black leather flapped and danced in the tight breeze, as the man turned towards Gonzo. Tiles crunched together beneath his black cowboy boots. Form-fitting trousers rose up from his ankles to his waist where they were met by a black t-shirt under a long black leather coat.

The man's fingers wrapped around the black metal crossbow. White light glinted off the steel arrow. And Gonzo knew where it was aimed.

Under the trailer, Fozzie turned over, sighed, and rolled onto his back.

They were caught in a triangle, Gonzo, the man, Fozzie. The man's black eyes twisted to Gonzo. His jaw set. And he released the arrow. It shot forward, snapping off the frame of the bow, and slamming into the shoulder, throwing the person back against the trailer door.

Gonzo charged. “How dare you!” His anger fuelled his feet, eyes narrowing. The man leapt, rolling over in the air, his coat swishing against the cold. He hit the ground. Gonzo skidded to a stop. The man levelled a second arrow at Gonzo's face. The steel point reflected Gonzo's eyes, nose, the wisps of his hair.

Uncle Deadly flinched in pain, the arrow pinning him to the thin sheet metal of the trailer walls. He grit his teeth. "The war," he said, "is begun."