Acmetropolis Central Prison - a noisy place, filled with criminals and crooks, caught by the police, or the local superheroes, the Loonatics.Of course, you’d expect to see not just the normal pickpockets, but the crazies and the super-powered ones. In one of the upper levels, you may spot Professor Zane, a mad scientist locked up for his insane experiments. Gloomy and handcuffed, you can tell he regrets his actions…or perhaps, he is merely biding his time. Another specialized cell holds Otto the Odd, a manipulative brainiac. Short and stocky, he glares out from between bars, clearly upset over his capture for the second time. Further down, you may find Massive, a hulking figure looking capable of taking on even Slamacus Tasmanian, an ex-wrestler and current Loonatic. Cuffs are slapped onto his wrists, preventing him from using his gravity powers. The cell, looking more like an over-sized test tube as one observes more closely, keeps the (forgive my pun) massive thief in check. Going back up, you might observe an empty stone room, big enough for three to fit in. In fact, there were three new additions…
“Th-this ain’t over,” stuttered Pinkster Pig, glaring at his captors, two of our main heroes, a rabbit and a duck.
“Sure it ain’t. But ‘till then, you’re stayin’ here,” the leader of the Loonatics, Ace Bunny said, pushing the villainous pig and his two henchmen, Bugsy and Stoney, into the waiting cell. A guard came to lock the door and departed quickly after hearing the lock click - seeing Pinkster’s face was enough to scare anyone.
“Well, that’s that,” said Ace, satisfied. “C’mon, Duck,” he called.
“Er…can I stay here for a couple more minutes, Ace?” Danger Duck asked. Ace blinked.
“What for?”
“I’d just want to- to wrap things up here,” Duck said, face impassive.
“Whatever you say,” said Ace, shrugging. “Don’t take too long.” With that, the leader headed to the exit, leaving the duck with the criminals.
“Uh, what do we do now, boss?” Stoney asked his companion.
“Shuddap! We’ll get out eventually,” Bugsy said irritably. He crawled into a corner and sat down.
“Uh, okay, boss.” Stoney sat down, making Bugsy look even smaller than before. “Eventually.”
“What d-do you w-want, Duck?” said Pinkster. Duck just looked at his old friend sadly.
“Why did you do this to me?” he asked quietly, barely audible over the collage of sounds in the background.
“What? I-is that all y-you wanted t-to in-inq-inq- a-ask?” Pinkster demanded, amusement on his face. “Y-you’re such a d-dr-drama q-queen.”
“Who are you?”
“What?”
“You’re not Pinkster. I knew Pinkster,” said Duck, looking away. “You’re not him. You’re a stranger.”
Pinkster froze, then gave out a short laugh. “You th-thought I was on y-your side? I w-was evil a-all along! I t-told you t-that!”
“You’re not Pinkster,” Duck repeated. “Pinkster wouldn’t do this.”
“Ne-news flash, idiot – I’m not the Pinkster you knew,” the pig said, grinning sadistically. “I-I’m Pink the Pug n-now!”
“What happened to you? Was it something I did?” Duck asked, almost in a whisper.
“I’ve b-been like t-this all along! H-how many ti-times do I have to t-tell you?” Pinkster shook his head. “B-boy, you sure l-like being in denial.”
“Don’t you remember when we were swinging at the park and I fell off? And I was crying, and you helped me get up,” said Duck, memories rushing by. “And we laughed about it later-”
“That was t-the p-past,” reminded Pinkster. “I’m s-still not on t-the good s-side anymore!”
“-and when we chased the pigeons and squirrels-”
“Th-what are y-you getting at?” the pig demanded.
“-chasing the other kids off the castle-”
“Sh-shut up! That n-never happened!” Pinkster yelled, the same memories flooding his mind.
“-and we dug all the sand out of the sandbox-”
“N-no! You-you’re lying!” The pig fell on the floor, screwing up his eyes and clapping his hands over his ears in a desperate attempt to block out Duck’s words, attracting many stares.
“-don’t you remember?” Duck asked, lowering himself to eye level. “Any of that? Didn’t that count for something?”
“NO! I’m n-not Pinkster- not th-the one you kn-knew th-then!” Pinkster turned away, refusing to look at his former friend. “You’re j-just be-being s-st-stu- silly! T-the Pinkster y-you knew is g-gone! H-he never w-was real in t-the f-first place!”
“Then I was right,” Duck said quietly. He stood up, contempt etched on his face. “You’re nothing but a stranger.”
“G-go away! I h-hate you! W-we never w-were fr-friends in t-th-the first place!” Pinkster snarled. “All th-that s-stuff, all th-those things y-you said we d-did together, it’s all l-lies!”
“Fine. Don’t get fried, pork chop,” Duck spat out, stalking off. The guard watched him turn the corner, then approached the cell. Pinkster was curled up on the floor, shaking.
“M-mister Pig?”
“SHUT UP! L-LEAVE ME A-ALONE!”
The guard backed off. “O-okay…” He flipped a switch on a walkie-talkie attached to his belt. “I think we may have to move one of the new prisoners,” he said. A burst of static came, followed by some talking, but the newcomers didn’t hear. Pinkster let out a sob.
“Hey…are you okay?” Stoney asked, picking up his adopted son.
“Don’t listen to that bird, he ain’t nuttin’ but foul,” Bugsy said, patting Pinkster’s head. “You don’t listen to him and everythin’’ll be all right.”
These words of comfort only set off the tears, and Pinkster wiped his eyes, trying to hide his face from his foster parents. The cell echoed with the sounds of his crying.
Outside, Ace tapped his foot. He looked at his wrist, where a holographic clock appeared.
“Where is- ah, Duck!”
Duck walked past his leader, taking no notice.
“Hey, what’s up, doc?” Ace asked jokingly.
“Let’s get back,” Duck muttered, climbing onto his zoomatrix.
“Wait! What happened back there? You took a while,” Ace said, mounting his own vehicle and strapping on his helmet.
“Nothing,” lied Duck, putting on his own headgear. “Let’s just get back already!”
“All right! Sheesh,” said Ace under his breath, rolling his eyes. Both of them kicked off, and the zoomatrixes lifted into the air, zooming off. The cool wind blew past them, and a tear escaped, flying through the air. It soared through the clouds, coming to a stop and landing on the palm of a hand.
“Poor Danny.”
A girl with black rimmed glasses and shoulder length black hair stared sadly after the two Loonatics speeding away. Her white feathery wings shuddered as the tear in her hand crystallized. She placed it carefully in the pocket of her thin black coat and dangled her legs over the cloud she sat on. Eventually, she took off, and disappeared. No one else noticed.
No one else noticed the tear. No one else noticed the pain. No one else noticed the love.
The memories, the betrayal, the friendship. No one else noticed.
And it was all gone.
In the Pinkster sure was something, eh? Pinkster was cute ‘till he told everyone that he was evil. Then he looked uuuuugly.
I guess this could count toward my 100 fic challenge. So it’s number 83 – Stranger.
THERE ARE NO PAIRINGS IN THIS FIC, IMPLIED OR OTHERWISE.
Very Brechtian. I like the details and the emotion that was portrayed in this particular story. I could so imagine the whole scene in my head. Good job Oddity.
Aaagghhhh! Stop! You're making my sympathize with and pity Duck even more! *Sniff* I now am...feeling something...'warm'...toward Duck...is it...'compassion'? NO! Say isn't so!
He! He!
A nice lil' fic here exploring an issue of personal importance to Duck. Maybe there really is hope for that mallard...and Pinkster, who can say?
And that image of 'the girl' (you right?) catching the tear was quite visually moving. A little emotional beauty there!
I made up the word after the famous playwright Bertolt Brecht. He was a playwright who wrote plays that tried not to get people emotionally involved yet it conveys a message. Techniques such as narration before and after the story, labels on characters and objects and characters narrating every movement they make are just the many techniques that he uses to make the play 'Brechtian'. He tries to make the audience spectators and observe what's happening instead of following it through like a book or comic. It's usually used in comedy but you're probably the only person I know to use the 'Brechtian' technique, yet it's so serious. I shake hands with you in your success .
< --- made by WaterJewelEmi
Very Brechtian. I like the details and the emotion that was portrayed in this particular story. I could so imagine the whole scene in my head. 
Good job Oddity.
Activate! Regenerate!
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