||Fan Fiction by Bureaucratic Model 1-3
||The Diabolical Glyde: Chapter 2 - Teasel and Mr. Telephone
A very dazed Teasel and a compassionate Bon
were exposed to a short clip of news from the Superia Channel. Seconds before
they had watched a grainy feed of the Diabolical Glyde giving Tron the what
for. Now an old gentleman was reporting that the mayor of Nino Town was
being held in custody for being an idiot and lewd acts with an imported
pig. They'd have more on the story when they came back but the two had already
heard more than they ever wanted to know. The TV was turned off, the phone
was hung up, and the two started running, one floating, out a door and to
a control room.
"Darn it Bon, if we don't work fast Tron might not see the end of this,
and I'll never forgive myself!"
"Bawuu," Bon said in mutual turn. The floors were not carpeted, the walls
were the pale blue of steel that needed painting, and most of the port holes
were covered with wax paper. The Starcraft was not anything like the Gesselcraft,
and definitely nothing to be proud of. The pair climbed (and/or ascended)
a ladder and entered a room filled with Servebots, each trying to keep the
ultimate balance of flying the ship as fast as it would go without having
it fall to peaces under them. In all truth they had 'borrowed' a few segments
of rocket fuel from the recently completed effort to get Megaman back to
Terra, and, if they really wanted to, they could be flying faster than a
speeding bullet, but they'd also be out of control, indu bitably headed
for a mountain three times over the horizon that they didn't even know was
there until they crashed into it, and that was assuming they didn't just
explode like a cherry bomb.
"How long till we reach the Sulfur Bottom?" he demanded.
"Nine thousand six hundred and twenty two seconds?" one of them called out.
"Nine thousand seconds? What are you an atomic clock?"
"Actually-" it began
Teasel balled his fist, "Don't answer that! Just give me a ballpark."
"Erm, roughly a day and nine minutes, give or take a few seconds for wind
speed of course."
"Of course," Teasel muttered. "I didn't want to do this Bon, but considering
the options I just can't see any other way out. Get me Megaman, on the phone
right now." A few of the servebots started running around like mad. Eventually
one came in with a phone, and another behind him had the receiver. Teasel
snatched it up and cleared his throat. Three rings, four rings, five rings,
they must not like picking up the phone. Suddenly a woman's voice came on
"Yes," it said.
Teasel cleared his throat a little more. "Is this the Volnutt residence?"
"Why yes it is."
"Is Megaman there?"
"I'm sorry he just went out with Roll."
"When do you think they'll be back?"
"I don't think--"
"WAIT A MINUTE! A date? Like a date, date?"
"I think so."
"Why that little-"
"Is this Teasel Bonne?"
"Noooo," he said, his voice dropping an octave or so, and his eyes darting
all around the control room trying to find something to change the subject.
After an awkward pause he decided against, 'I just wanted to thank him for
petting my cat the other day', and blurted out, "He owes me money." Another
awkward pause followed; broken eventually by the unconvinced girl's voice
assured him she would relay the message.
He handed the phone back to the second servbot with an uncommonly loud sigh
of relieve, only to hear a voice on the other end call out, "Hello?" His
face suddenly contorted in a manner that made it look so like a monkey he
would have screamed to see himself in a mirror.
He grabbed the phone cord and yanked it out of the wall, declaring: "I think
we've had enough from Mr. Telephone for one day."
"Who was it Mr. Teasel?" a random servbot asked.
"Oh, nobody, just the cleaning lady"
"It didn't sound like a cleaning lady, Mr. Teasel," said another.
He balled both his fists and, raising them in the air, bellowed, "Okay it
wasn't the cleaning lady! But that's not important! The important thing
is that as-we-speak Tron is enduring grueling torture and all we can think
about is ourselves! Can't this thing go any faster?"
"Bawuu," Bon said sadly.
"That's true," one of the servbots replied, "But I have an idea!"
Teasel, his fists in the air, looking quite mad (meaning crazy, not angry)
glared down at him. Usually he had the bright ideas, and even though some
of them weren't so bright, the ones that worked always made him feel better.
But he was running on empty and when there's nothing inside but spit and
vinegar you make sacrifices. He sighed once more, dropping his hands to
his sides, and bowing his head. "Yes #20?"
"If we outfitted Bon with a rocket he could make it to the Sulfur Bottom
in no time, and I could ride on his back."
Teasel perked up and started stroking the metallic device on his chin. "That
might work. And we could have him ready in five minutes, why, he'd be there
"Six-hundred and forty-eight seconds to be exact."
Teasel eyed his little compatriot. "We'll do it, and you can light the fuse."
"Me! But! Mr. Teasel, Protocol dictates-"
"Well #20 get started, we don't have all day. I'll be relaxing in my room
if anybody needs me."
"Yes Mr. Teasel," they all said as he marched out.