Francine Peters (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thatsamilkshake) wrote2009-03-11 02:33 pm
thatsamilkshake) wrote2009-03-11 02:33 pm
On the Way to Strokes of Genius, Wednesday Afternoon
Was it possible, really possible, for anyone to be so completely oblivious to what was going on in the skies over Fandom that they'd be tra-la-la-ing down the path with a very literal basket of goodies over one arm, The Best of the Bangles bouncing in their headphones, and not so much as a hat or an umbrella in sight, let alone a weapon?
...Have you met Francine?
Close your eyes, give me your hand... Between the music in her ears, the off-key version coming out of her mouth, and the fact that she was following instructions and bopping along the road with her hand out and her eyes closed, there was no way she was going to notice anything was up.
Until the first bit of up fell down on her, hitting her outstretched hand with a distinct but sadly not de-stinked SPLAT.
"Bwuh?" Eye-opening was followed by, "EWWWWWWW! What?" and looking up at the sky. ".............Oh, CRAP."
Well, yes. But also? Huge screeching bird-things with horrible almost-human faces, and sharp, sharp claws. How did she know they were sharp? Just a guess, courtesy the one that was currently circling lower in her direction, claws outstretched.
To her credit, she didn't completely freeze there.For more than a few seconds. She did manage to start running. Just long enough to trip over her skirt and send herself sprawling, cookies rolling out of the basket and off down the street.
Flat on her back in the road. Bird-thing cannonballing down towards her. "HeLLLllllLLLLllllLLLP!"
[For small blondes with issues!]
...Have you met Francine?
Close your eyes, give me your hand... Between the music in her ears, the off-key version coming out of her mouth, and the fact that she was following instructions and bopping along the road with her hand out and her eyes closed, there was no way she was going to notice anything was up.
Until the first bit of up fell down on her, hitting her outstretched hand with a distinct but sadly not de-stinked SPLAT.
"Bwuh?" Eye-opening was followed by, "EWWWWWWW! What?" and looking up at the sky. ".............Oh, CRAP."
Well, yes. But also? Huge screeching bird-things with horrible almost-human faces, and sharp, sharp claws. How did she know they were sharp? Just a guess, courtesy the one that was currently circling lower in her direction, claws outstretched.
To her credit, she didn't completely freeze there.
Flat on her back in the road. Bird-thing cannonballing down towards her. "HeLLLllllLLLLllllLLLP!"
[For small blondes with issues!]
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Not at all.
And she wouldn't have recognized Francine's voice anywhere, either. Really.
. . . please, like Katchoo would drop everything and come running to the rescue of just anyone.
Five feet and three inches of slightly bloody green-eyed blonde fury came barreling down the road with a baseball bat raised overhead
and no one in the comic cover holding her back this timeand a little green clock rolling behind her."LEAVE HER THE #(*)&#$ ALONE, YOU OVERGROWN PIECE OF (%^*@#!+ LANDFILL REJECT!" she bellowed over Clocky's equally indignant beeping.
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The harpy, on the other hand, did the aerial equivalent of skidding to a stop, sizing up the oh so tiny newcomer with the almost impressive mouth --- before shrugging its wings and diving for Francine again. "Whatever, BITE SIZED %++1^*$!"
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Oh, them was fighting words. Katchoo (with a mental note to buy new sneakers, because she was skidding on the cobblestone in the worn-out treads on these) swung the baseball bat wildly, making up for what she lacked in style with pure erratic rage.
"I'LL GIVE YOU SOMETHING BITE SIZED, YOU MOTHERF&^$%@!)%(#$ GODDAMN #(@^*(!)%#*$^!"
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Francine, meanwhile, fell backwards, ducking away from the scrabbling claws.
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Which pissed her off even more, but let's be honest, how hard is that?
"NOT FOR EATING, YOU --" and Katchoo swung the bat blindly a few more times as she went off on a detailed tirade about the harpy's eating habits, attitude problems (hi, glass houses), and, er . . . personal habits.
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"You oughtta know, pork roast!" the harpy screeched, still favoring her wing as she made a return circle towards Katchoo. "Your mom does it every night! With ketchup!"
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What the harpy apparently didn't know, though, was the effect a "your mom" riposte would have on her.
"Night, hell," Katchoo roared with a mighty if style-free axe-chop blow. "You, in broad frikkin' daylight, with . . ."
Ewwwwwww.
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Unless Katchoo could pick some up from the "AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWCK!" as bird and bat connected.
Francine stared openmouthed as feathers flew everywhere.
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"And you --" WHACK.
"Not to mention --" THUNK WHACK CRUNCH.
"Plus --" CRUNCH CRUNCH WHAPPITY CRUNCH.
"STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM HER FROM NOW ON, YOU . . ." Blink. "SO THERE."
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Yeah, that sound. "Yeah well.....uhhhhhh..." The harpy snapped her bird-beak a few times; gold eyes crossed and almost rolled back up into her skull when the last hit sent her soaring into the air, completely without any use of her own wings.
"Yer......faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaace...." she gasped feebly as she became a smaller and smaller speck in the sky, until the only sign of her was the feathers still raining down.
"Meep," was all Francine, clutching her empty goodie basket, had to say.
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"Francine? Francine! Are you okay? Speak to me!"
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She was glad they were back on baked-goods delivery terms, though.
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"Uh, Francie, running now would be good."
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"Crap crap crap crap crap crap -- NO, THAT'S NOT A SUGGESTION!"