RedPiggy
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Author’s Note: Don’t own the Fraggles … that would be the Henson Company.
Boober Fraggle sat with his knees up against his chest in the dark cave opening, staring at the cold metal object in front of him. Its presence had been bothering him for the entire week. Both it and that other thing had been holed up in a single cave ever since two cream pies saved the entire Fraggle population.
“Come on, Boober,” a cheerier version of his own trombone-like voice announced, “let’s start it up and see what it can do!”
Boober shook his head in disgust. He started rubbing his brownish-red scarf in his fingers. “It’s supposed to hurt Fraggles,” he replied in a slightly panicked voice. “Why would I want that?”
“No pain, no gain!” came the response, followed by laughter.
“It isn’t funny, Sidebottom!” Boober yelled angrily, clenching the scarf in his fist. He looked to his left as a ghostly doppelganger appeared out of the cave shadows. Sidebottom liked wearing flamboyant hats and loud printed shirts, while Boober preferred his lone brown cap and his scarf. Both were blue, but Sidebottom was a much lighter shade. Sidebottom’s rose-red hair was also shorter than Boober’s.
Sidebottom sighed and stood on his head, his feet dangling and his tail twitching. “So why are we here, Boober?” he asked, annoyed. “Please don’t tell me we’re here to watch metal rust.”
“Why don’t you just go back inside my mind where you belong?” Boober grumbled.
Sidebottom performed a couple of cartwheels and hopped up on top of the cylindrical metal object. “I will if you tell me why we’re here,” he goaded playfully.
Boober’s tail swayed slowly, drooping. “They’re designed to kill,” he said finally.
Sidebottom calmly adjusted his large feather-covered hat. “You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking….”
Boober scoffed in disgust and shook his head. “Of course not!” He stood up and started pacing. “Just because I talk about death all the time doesn’t mean I want to experience it!”
Sidebottom, exasperated, threw his head back, his arms gesturing strongly, and screamed, “Then why are we here?”
Sidebottom snapped upright and hopped off the cannon. He pointed at Boober with an amused expression. “You were terrified Mokey would get hurt, is that it?” Boober mumbled something under his breath. Sidebottom, who (as a part of Boober’s subconscious) could sense what Boober was thinking at any time, smirked and put a hand up to one ear buried in red hair. “What did you say?”
“You heard me!” Boober shot back. Boober turned his back on his alter ego, crossing his arms, trying to hide his downcast expression. His voice became more somber. “Don’t forget … you’re a part of this, too.”
Sidebottom continued to smile. He shrugged off the accusation. “I know what’ll make you feel all kinds of better … let’s go tell the others!”
Boober’s jaw dropped as he whipped around and grabbed Sidebottom’s shirt. “What are you, insane? We can’t tell our friends something like that!”
“Why not? Wembley’s pretty understanding. Gobo would never blame you (or me). Mokey would just feel sorry for you….”
Boober sighed and released him. He nodded resignedly. “And Red would never let me live it down. She’d hate me even more than she already does.”
Sidebottom grinned like a stalking cat. “Oh, Red doesn’t hate you, Boober,” he informed his other self in a mock-compassionate tone. “In fact, Red is secretly your number one fan.”
Boober stared at the cave floor, analyzing the ruts from moving the heavy weapon. “Everyone knows she likes Gobo better. We’re just too different.”
“I know she hates it when Gobo goes exploring….”
Boober looked up at Sidebottom with a confused expression. “How would you know that? I don’t let you talk to anyone else. You’re my problem.”
Sidebottom nodded slowly and slapped Boober on the shoulder. “And I’m your solution! Let me deal with Little Miss Perfect. I know lots of things about lots of Fraggles.”
Boober shook his head, loosening his scarf. “There’s just no way you could know every Fraggle’s secrets. I don’t … and you know only anything I know!”
Sidebottom chuckled. “What makes you think I know anything about secrets? I know what buttons to push, that’s all. Give me ten minutes with her and I’ll have Red washing your socks, for a change!”
Boober sat back down. “I’m not going to tell them. And neither are you.”
Sidebottom sighed. He couldn’t win this one. Boober was easily manipulated, unless he truly desired something important. His voice betrayed his resignation. “Who cares what happened two generations back anyway?” He put a hand gently on Boober’s cap. “It’s not like you or I had anything to do with the Fraggle War. Why feel guilty? You make kettles, not cannons. You whittle sticks for Red and Gobo’s rock hockey games … you don’t make arrows for that giant crossbow over there.” He patted Boober’s head. “Don’t let the cannon kill you without firing a shot, Boober.”
Boober Fraggle sat with his knees up against his chest in the dark cave opening, staring at the cold metal object in front of him. Its presence had been bothering him for the entire week. Both it and that other thing had been holed up in a single cave ever since two cream pies saved the entire Fraggle population.
“Come on, Boober,” a cheerier version of his own trombone-like voice announced, “let’s start it up and see what it can do!”
Boober shook his head in disgust. He started rubbing his brownish-red scarf in his fingers. “It’s supposed to hurt Fraggles,” he replied in a slightly panicked voice. “Why would I want that?”
“No pain, no gain!” came the response, followed by laughter.
“It isn’t funny, Sidebottom!” Boober yelled angrily, clenching the scarf in his fist. He looked to his left as a ghostly doppelganger appeared out of the cave shadows. Sidebottom liked wearing flamboyant hats and loud printed shirts, while Boober preferred his lone brown cap and his scarf. Both were blue, but Sidebottom was a much lighter shade. Sidebottom’s rose-red hair was also shorter than Boober’s.
Sidebottom sighed and stood on his head, his feet dangling and his tail twitching. “So why are we here, Boober?” he asked, annoyed. “Please don’t tell me we’re here to watch metal rust.”
“Why don’t you just go back inside my mind where you belong?” Boober grumbled.
Sidebottom performed a couple of cartwheels and hopped up on top of the cylindrical metal object. “I will if you tell me why we’re here,” he goaded playfully.
Boober’s tail swayed slowly, drooping. “They’re designed to kill,” he said finally.
Sidebottom calmly adjusted his large feather-covered hat. “You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking….”
Boober scoffed in disgust and shook his head. “Of course not!” He stood up and started pacing. “Just because I talk about death all the time doesn’t mean I want to experience it!”
Sidebottom, exasperated, threw his head back, his arms gesturing strongly, and screamed, “Then why are we here?”
Sidebottom snapped upright and hopped off the cannon. He pointed at Boober with an amused expression. “You were terrified Mokey would get hurt, is that it?” Boober mumbled something under his breath. Sidebottom, who (as a part of Boober’s subconscious) could sense what Boober was thinking at any time, smirked and put a hand up to one ear buried in red hair. “What did you say?”
“You heard me!” Boober shot back. Boober turned his back on his alter ego, crossing his arms, trying to hide his downcast expression. His voice became more somber. “Don’t forget … you’re a part of this, too.”
Sidebottom continued to smile. He shrugged off the accusation. “I know what’ll make you feel all kinds of better … let’s go tell the others!”
Boober’s jaw dropped as he whipped around and grabbed Sidebottom’s shirt. “What are you, insane? We can’t tell our friends something like that!”
“Why not? Wembley’s pretty understanding. Gobo would never blame you (or me). Mokey would just feel sorry for you….”
Boober sighed and released him. He nodded resignedly. “And Red would never let me live it down. She’d hate me even more than she already does.”
Sidebottom grinned like a stalking cat. “Oh, Red doesn’t hate you, Boober,” he informed his other self in a mock-compassionate tone. “In fact, Red is secretly your number one fan.”
Boober stared at the cave floor, analyzing the ruts from moving the heavy weapon. “Everyone knows she likes Gobo better. We’re just too different.”
“I know she hates it when Gobo goes exploring….”
Boober looked up at Sidebottom with a confused expression. “How would you know that? I don’t let you talk to anyone else. You’re my problem.”
Sidebottom nodded slowly and slapped Boober on the shoulder. “And I’m your solution! Let me deal with Little Miss Perfect. I know lots of things about lots of Fraggles.”
Boober shook his head, loosening his scarf. “There’s just no way you could know every Fraggle’s secrets. I don’t … and you know only anything I know!”
Sidebottom chuckled. “What makes you think I know anything about secrets? I know what buttons to push, that’s all. Give me ten minutes with her and I’ll have Red washing your socks, for a change!”
Boober sat back down. “I’m not going to tell them. And neither are you.”
Sidebottom sighed. He couldn’t win this one. Boober was easily manipulated, unless he truly desired something important. His voice betrayed his resignation. “Who cares what happened two generations back anyway?” He put a hand gently on Boober’s cap. “It’s not like you or I had anything to do with the Fraggle War. Why feel guilty? You make kettles, not cannons. You whittle sticks for Red and Gobo’s rock hockey games … you don’t make arrows for that giant crossbow over there.” He patted Boober’s head. “Don’t let the cannon kill you without firing a shot, Boober.”