Makin' Memories: A Slice of Life CEC/RAE fanfic

[Charon the Sabercat]

I got very... very bored. This isn't gonna have any predefined plot (yet). Just know that it may very well have kendo battles, minor explosions, carnivals, in-jokes, appearances by minor characters, and lots and lots of cute.

^^^

It was a warm day back in 1992 when the Rockafire Explosion played their last concert as a group. The audience didn't seem to know, or care, that they were leaving, simply going about their pizza-related business as usual. It was practically a normal day, which hurt the band. A few tears, maybe a bouquet, a coupon, something to commemorate their years of service would be nice. Anything, really.
Which is why they remember that little boy. A mouse, about a year old (6 in mouse years), who sat at the edge of the stage and stared in wonder as they played. Being one of the last shows of the day, the band was happy to notice him. They made eye contact, they smiled, they got him to clap along. Billy Bob even played a sympathy round of Ski Ball with him, which he won enough tickets with to buy a tiny notepad for them all to autograph. It would have been great, had the notebook had their logo stamped on it instead of Chuck E. Cheese's obnoxious face. Eventually the mouse left with an old hippo woman with a walker, chirping into her ear about how he wanted to be a musician when he grew up, just like the brown bear. As it was, it was good, and it was a memory that stuck with the Rockafire Explosion for a long, long time.
About 7 years, in fact, when the Rockafire Explosion got a phone call from Chuck E. Cheese, calling in a long-forgotten favor: babysit his son.
&&&



Beach Bear awoke from his nap to a knock on the door. It took a minute to orient himself; he had fallen asleep on the living room sofa, putting his back at a funny angle which left him with the beginnings of a neckache and a faint aroma of wet dog and gorilla. Groaning in annoyance, he rolled off the sofa into the idea of carpet, the actual carpet itself having turned into a fairly good linoleum floor after years of sticky spills and trampling. Not bothering to stand up fully, Beach Bear entered the hallway on all fours, tapping on the bathroom door and telling Mitzi not to walk out naked with the guest here. Receiving an angry “DUH!” for his efforts, Beach Bear stood to his full height and opened the front door.
In his line of sight, he saw some fancy car he didn't know the name off speeding out of the trailer park as fast as possible, leaving a tire mark in the dry dirt. Looking down, he spotted a wide-eyed, light-furred mouse on his doorstep with a purple backpack and a hat with a large letter C stitched into it. He mentally sighed, resigning himself to spend the rest of the evening watching the offspring of the only creature on Earth he could consider his enemy. It was only when the wide-eyed mouse's eyes went even wider did he feel the faint stirrings of an even more faint memory...
“Hey, I remember you!” the little mouse said. “You played at my friend's birthday party!”
“We've played at a lot of kids birthday parties,” Beach Bear pointed out, visibly bruising the kid's spirit. “What's your name?”
The little mouse, previous enthusiasm derailed, nervously crossed his ankles. “Chuck E. Cheese.”
Beach Bear cocked an eyebrow.
Chuck E. Cheese looked away. “The Third.”
Figures he'd want to name his offspring after himself, but twice? Beach Bear found himself sighing and shaking his head before he could stop himself. “Come on in, I'll fix you a cheese sandwich or something.”
“Um... thank you.” Adjusting his backpack, Chuck followed obediently after Beach Bear. His nose crinkled at the pungent stick of animal that saturated the trailer, amplified by the paneled walls. Beach Bear waved Chuck over to a sofa that had sunk to nearly half its original height from repeated use, all its previous colors decayed to various shades of brown.
“Sit down and watch TV if you want. We don't have cable, though, so it's basically PBS and Fox.”
“O-okay.”
Chuck hesitated, clutching his backpack tightly. The TV was only about 12 inches wide, much smaller than the one at home, and it was sitting on a stack of Coca-Cola crates and a VCR. As he waited, Beach Bear squeezed past him and entered the kitchen, muttering to himself about Rolfe not doing the dishes. With a tiny shiver of disgust, Chuck sat in the very middle of the sofa, flashing back to elementary school.
“So uh... .” Chuck squeaked, plopping his backpack down on the floor. “This is where you live?”
“This is where all of us live,” Beach bear corrected, opening a can of Pepsi. “Everybody else is at work right now.”
“Oh... that's cool.” Chuck crossed his knees and ankles and placed his weight on his hands. “Um...”
“I don't work, I keep the house clean.” With a grunt, Beach Bear forced open the fridge and dug around for the bread and cheese. “And Mitzi's home from school for an end service.”
“Mitzi?” Chuck turned his ears when he heard a door small from his other side.
“Yeah, she was taking a bath.”
Beach Bear silently handed Chuck a cheese sandwich and turned on the TV at the set, sitting next to Chuck. Chuck nibbled on his sandwich as a fuzzy version of Wheel of Fortune appeared onscreen.
“Hamlet, Prince of Denmark.”
Chuck squeaked. “Hm?”
Beach Bear sprawled. “The answer. Hamlet, Prince of Denmark.”
“Oh.” One of the contestants figured out the answer within the next few minutes, after Chuck had finished his sandwich. “Cooooool. You're smart.”
Beach Bear smiled.
&&&
“I'm home!” Dook threw his duffle bag into his usual spot and jumped when it yelped. “Woah!”
“We're babysitting.” Beach Bear pointed to the two mice tucked under his arm, locked in a battle to the death on whatever Super Nintendo game they were playing (Mitzi was currently winning due to a duffle bag falling on Chuck's head).
“Oh. 'Kay, y'all want take-out?”
&&&
“Back.”
“Hi, Mr. Geronimo!”
“Oh, yeah, we're babys- WHY THE HELL YOU EATIN' ALL MY EGG ROLLS? Move over!”
&&&
“I'm back, everybody!” Billy Bob chimed, lifting his shoulder for Looney Bird to land on. “Hey, you got Chinese!”
“We're having a Mario Brothers tournament,” Beach Bear stated, ducking as Dook swung an elbow in the general direction of his face. “Could you load the dishwasher, please?”
&&&
“The trailer is leaning over, who's mak- oh.” Rolfe flicked his ears as Chuckie flashed him a grin. “Oh right, we're watching his son. Whoopee.”
“I think I remember you!” said Chuckie, handing his controller over to Mitzi. “Something's not quite right, though-”
Within the blink of an eye, Rolfe whipped Earl out of his backpack. “It's probably 'cause Rolfe ain't spouting off dumb stuff like he did back in the day!”
“THAT'S IT!” Chuck shouted. “Oh, wow!”
&&&
The loud banging on the front door caused the entire Rockafire Explosion (plus Chuckie) jump.
“Charles Entertainment Cheese, get out here NOW!” yelled a voice in a thick country accent. “Your father's already mad that I'm late!”
“Aw, man...” Chuck wiggled himself out from between Fatz and Billy Bob. “I had lots of fun, thank you so much!”
The band shared a perplexed look.
“But... we didn't do anything,” said Beach Bear.
Dook nodded. “Yeah, we just sat around playin' Nintendo.”
“But it was a lot of fun!” Chuck insisted. “We never do anything like that at home!”
“Aw.” Fatz patted Chuck on the head. “Well, you're free to come back whenever y'all are wantin' to. We'll order take-out again, maybe rent a movie.”
“Sure thing! Bye!”
Chuck left without another word.
And it was about an hour later before Mitzi suddenly spoke. “Hey, wasn't he the kid that got our autographs the last day we played?”
“... oh yeah.” Beach Bear leaned farther back into the sofa.

^^^

Aah, to lead the life of a tired and disillusioned band.

[dook97]

I have to say I am going to print out the WHOLE story and read it to my class on show and tell day (suprised we have show and tell day in middle school still?)!

[Charon the Sabercat]

This? Of all things, really? I'm flattered!

[Harmony Howlette]

I have to say I am going to print out the WHOLE story and read it to my class on show and tell day (suprised we have show and tell day in middle school still?)!
You're 38 years old and in middle school?

Anywho, Charon - that was pretty damn cute. I love the little touches like Chuck naming his kid after himself and the RAE living together in a trailer (I smell a sitcom!)

I really get a kick out of short stories like this - hope you decide to write another one sometime!

[Vega III CEC]

You're 38 years old and in middle school?

Anywho, Charon - that was pretty damn cute. I love the little touches like Chuck naming his kid after himself and the RAE living together in a trailer (I smell a sitcom!)

I really get a kick out of short stories like this - hope you decide to write another one sometime!
Seriously short stories for. The. Win. I find it funny how similarly we think. I've honestly thought that If Chuck totally had a family, he'd name his son after him in some way. Either Chuck or Charlie, or some derivative of Charles.

[dook97]

Harmony of course not! I had an adult make my account for me on here back in '08 (I think) and my mom put that I was 38. Yeah and I now live in MO. Yeah I would be pretty stupid if I was 38 and in middle school.

[Charon the Sabercat]

The second section, as the story isn't really concrete enough to call it the next chapter.



The system seemed to work, as Chuck E. Cheese the first called the Rockafire once again to watch his son, this time with pay. Little Chuck E. Cheese appeared within the hour, immediately planting himself on the floor in front of the sofa to play Super Nintendo, resting his back on Dook's knees. It was a quiet evening for a long while as the adults simply watched the miniature Chuck E. Cheese play Paperboy better than the rest of them could do collectively.
&&&
Chuck looked up from the TV long enough to make eye contact with Fatz. “So why do you all live together? I thought bands were supposed to get sick of each other and break up and stuff.”
“Well, we did, back in...” Fatz put a finger to his chin, pondering. “In uh...”
“1987,” Dook stated.
“'Bout 1987, yeah.”
“... wait, I saw you in 1992, right?” Chuckie sat up with a start. “You guys were fighting for that long?”
“Well, it's a long story,” Fatz admitted, settling further into the sofa. “Filled with all sort o' intrigue and... and-”
Beach Bear woke from his semi-nap. “And early computer animation.”
Fatz flicked Beach Bear's nose. “No, that ain't it, it's another word for, uh... for fightin' each otha an' all that. Come on up here.”
Chuck took the tiny sliver of sofa that wasn't occupied by the rest of the Rockafire Explosion, sitting wedged between Fatz's hip and Billy Bob's leg. “All right now. Was a long time ago, longer now that it see-”
“I've seen that movie,” said Chuck.
&&&
'Bout that time, there was some executive decisions bein' made back at the Showbiz Pizza Company.
“Showbiz Pizza Place Incorporated.”
Right, right. They started sendin' us all sorts a memos and stuff about stuff we had to do durin' the show. One day we got a call back when we was recordin' a show back in Florida.
“Creative Engineering.”
Thank ya Beach Bear, now...
“Minute and a half?!” Fatz roared. “That's not even time to start a good joke!”
“I know, guys, I'm sorry,” Aaron Fechter sighed. “I can't do anything about it, it's an order from the management.”
Dook stole the order from Fatz's hand and pulled it back to Mitzi and Beach Bear, while Fatz and Billy Bob stood before their boss.
“So, what's the order for?” asked Billy Bob.
“You asked that, not me.”
Nuh uh, you did!
“Now Fatz, yer the one who asked, I remember-”
No I wasn't, now let-
“I was right there, I herd ya say it!”
“Um, Mr. Geronimo-”
“Right, right.”
Fechter directed Fatz and Billy Bob to a chair, knowing that they couldn't really sit in them. They appreciated the gesture, though, taking a seat on the floor as he grabbed his own chair and sat in it backwards. “The management feels like you're wasting too much time onstage. The audience gets bored listening to you guys talking about- about Dook's mom and stuff like that.”
“Well, that's part of the appeal of the show, in my humble opinion.”
“I know, Fatz, and I like it too, but...” Aaron seemed to fold in on hi-
“Wait, you weren't using scripts?”
&&&
“Well, there goes my big momentous plot twist,” Fatz grumbled.
Chuckie let out a long “wow” before chirping, “Man, you guys were so lucky! Dad never lets me do shows without a script!”
“It was pretty cool,” Beach Bear admitted. “We had a little outline for the shows with themes, and we had, like-”
“We had the idea of the script,” continued Mitzi, “And we made up the dialogue.”
“That's so cool!”
Fatz cleared his throat.
&&&
So yeah, minute and a half, and we had to follow scripts.
“If I wanted to follow scripts, I would been an actor.” Dook huffed in disdain and threw the memo over his shoulder, were it stalled and landed with an anticlimatic thump directly behind him. “Whadda they think they're doin', pullin' this- “
Uh, maybe I shouldn't quote that part.
“This flashback is rated PG-13 for language and adult themes, all provided by Dook Larue.”
“Y'all shut up.”
“Now guys, we are in show business, and I guess, that...” Billy Bob wrung his paws timidly, trying to find the words. “Y'know, in business, you have to make certain decisions that you don't like in order to stay afloat, know what I mean?”
The Rockafire Explosion murmured in resignation, Aaron Fechter sighing and patting Billy Bob on the shoulder. “Thank you.”
Looney Bird made a disapproving bird noise somewhere from the sound booth. “Next thing you know, they'll be telling us what shows to produce!”
“And they did.”
N- now boy!-
&&&
“Stop guessin' my plot twists!”
Beach Bear smiled quietly to himself as the rest of the band laughed. “You know it's only a twist when you don't know what's about to happen, right?”
“Well how I'm supposed to tell the story with this one in'erruptin' me the entire time?” Fatz poked Chuck on the nose hard for extra emphasis, which made the mouse only laugh harder. “All these in'erruptions, it's like 1984 all over again.”
Mitzi wiggled herself out of the tangle of Rockafire and made her way to the kitchen. “He probably remembers Cyberstar.”
“What's Cyberstar?”
“He doesn't. Good.” Rolfe leaned into Mitzi's spot with an exhausted sigh, absently polishing Earl's eyes.
Chuckie reached down with his foot and turned off the Nintendo. “What is bad?”
“Really, really bad.” With a theatrical wave of his hand, Rolfe began, “Dook really started having problems with the band around that point, considering how they wrote him into the script...”
&&&
Aaron jumped as Dook slammed a script down in front of him, the powerful hit rattling the tiny recording booth. “Dook?”
“I can count to three, Aaron.”
Confused, Aaron glanced at the script for the newest Cyberstar tape. Dook had his hand on page 3, “TV Theme Songs”, his fingers just covering his few lines of dialogue. “Th- oh. Dook, I'm sorry, I have no input over these! There's nothing I can do!”
“You can call the head office and tell them I'm not some idiot j-”
Oh wait, we're editing.
“- I'm not some Louisiana idiot to be made fun of!”
And then more stuff happened, I dunno-
“Wait, what?”
&&&
“I wasn't there for most of this, I was in the break room smoking a b-”
“AAAND WE'RE EDITING-” Mitzi yelled, gripping Rolfe's muzzle and forcing it shut. “La la la, he's not saying anything!”
Chuckie seemed to stall in his thinking for a moment, vaguely watching Rolfe try to push Mitzi's hands off of his muzzle. “... Um, you don't have to edit that part. Aunt Dolli smokes, it's not that bad.”
Looney Bird sighed. “Isn't his naivete refreshing?”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Rolfe was released, and immediately he launched back into his story.
&&&
Anyway, Dook wa-
&&&
“Why you makin' this out like it's all my fault?!” Dook snapped.
“Because it was!”
“Nuh uh, y'all were tunin' out just as much as I was!”
&&&
Beach Bear wudn't showin' up to rehearsals,
Mitzi was doin' auditions for other studios,
Fatz was too busy writin' his own songs and kissin' a-
“Editing!”
… and brown-nosin' to focus on the band,
and Fecther was busy makin' those dumb little midget bots to replace us!
&&&
Billy Bob gently patted the increasingly-irate LaRue's chest in a placating manner. “Now now, Dook, it's all in the past now. Besides, Aaron offered us a spot on the Mijjins stage, remember?”
“I ain't wearin' PINK.”
“I know, I know, calm down!” Billy Bob continued to pat Dook's chest and slowly stroked his head, trying to will the tension out of him. “That's all in the past now...”
“Don't forget your breathing exercises!” Looney hopped onto the top of Dook's head and perched, softly bobbing his head back and forth. “In with the good air, out with the bad...”
Chuckie found himself more crowded than he was comfortable with and sat in Rolfe's vacant spot, leaning into the wolf's stationary arm. “So what happened?”
“In case you didn't notice, tensions were kind of high around the late 80s,” Rolfe stated bluntly with a roll of his eyes.
&&&
Eventually, Dook and Fatz got into a little cat fight.
Dook and Fatz each circled the other, shoulders braced and all pretense of acting “proper for the humans” thrown out the window. Each had been driving to their four feet, previous arguments about stage time and brown-nosing having devolved into growls and barks.
“Guys!” Aaron shouted from the corner of the room, having been pushed back and held their by Billy Bob in an attempt at protection. “We can settle this like adults here! Cut that out!”
“Mr. Fechter's right, guys, come on,” Mitzi pleaded, hovering right at the edge of the two animal's danger zone. “Maybe we can go get smoothies and try to relax?”
“Yeah, let's do that.” Dook advanced a few steps, baring his teeth to the riled gorilla. “Since Fatz is getting' all the money, we'll make him pay for it!”
Fatz retreated a bit before forcing himself back into Dook's space, forcing the dog lower to the ground and back against a wall. “I'd be happy to share it once you start writin' shows, bookin' gigs, and contributin' songs that aren't recycled love songs about your girlfriend-of-the-week!”
Dook's hind foot bumped the wall; he instinctively surged forward, lunging for Fatz's neck.
&&&
Chuckie gasped, clutching at his face in terror. “What happened then?”
Fatz punched his palm. “I socked him in the face.”
&&&
Fatz swung his mighty arm and hit Dook square across the shoulder, launching the dog into the opposite wall. He collided with a yelp, immediately tucking his tail and running from the building at full speed.
&&&
“Where'd he go?”
The room became very quiet, and Chuckie felt as if he'd crawled into a cold bed. He never really noticed the sofa's sitting arrangement before then; Fatz sat on the far right, with Billy Bob scrunched as close to him as possible so Beach Bear could stretch in the middle. Mitzi tucked under Beach Bear's arm (normally, as Rolfe was there now), while Rolfe sat where Chuck was now, and Dook was stationed on the far left.
Was that why there was so much distance between the two? Even now, Dook only stared intensely at a stain on the opposite wall, while Fatz shivered faintly with an unresolved tension.
&&&
Dook found a place he could hide, an hour away at full run. Seeing a house up on piers, he shuffled beneath the vinyl siding and curled up under the house's front porch, nose peeking out from between the steps for air. He could feel chill mud through his water-resistant costume, making his curl his uncovered tail around him and tuck his legs underneath.
He allowed himself to just be a scared dog for a few minutes, watching cars go by and growling at wayward kitties. After a while, thoughts of his contract, his paychecks, and all his stuff back at Creative Engineering flitted through his mind, reminding him that he had to man up and go back.
And then it started to rain.
“God damn it.” Dook laid his head down. He'd go back when the rain stopped.
&&&
“We still don't know,” Beach Bear admitted.
“Well, then...” Chuck crossed his legs at the ankles. “When did he come back?”
“Few hours later.”
&&&
Dook entered through the back door; the band had finished for the day. His drums were back together. Fechter was asleep at his desk. The lights were off. It was a wonder the door was still unlocked.
“Huh, uh... Aaron?”
Aaron woke with a jump, immediately surging to life and running at Dook with a telephone in hand. “Dook, Dook, I called the head office! They said they weren't gonna give you stupid lines in the script anymore!”
“They didn't?”
Nope.

&&&
“They took him out of the shows entirely.”
“Woah!” Chuck pulled his legs up to his chest. “So why are you guys all in the same trailer?”
It got quiet again.
“Oh yeah, that's the question we was tryin' to answer, wasn't it?” Dook asked.
“You wanna know why we're all here?” Mitzi grappled Chuck's head and pulled it to her, leaning heavily on the little mouse's crown. “Billy Bob... made a friendship speech.”
Chuck let loose his most profound gasp yet. “A real one?!”
The grin on Mitzi's face probably could have won awards. “Yep.”
“Like on Yu-Gi-Oh?!”
Fatz leaned over, looking to Dook. “What's a Yoogy-O?”
&&&
Billy Bob stood in front of the b-
&&&
“Don't recite the whole speech!” Earl spoke. “I feel like keepin' my lunch today!”
Billy Bob huffed, “Aw, come on, Rolfe! It's sweet!”
“The boy had to sit through the fight, he might as well sit through the friendship speech,” said Fatz.
Earl made his weird little “GAAAW” noise and shouted, “Fine, then! Just keep it short, that dang sap-fest lasted for 15 minutes!”
“All right then, fine,” said Billy Bob, crossing his arms in frustration.
&&&
Billy Bob took a deep breath. “I don't think we can keep the band together anymore, but I don't wanna stop being friends with all y'all, so... truce?”
“I can dig it,” said Beach Bear.
The rest of the band nodded in agreement.
&&&
“And that was it.”
“That's pretty c-”
The door nearly fell down with the force of “Uncle” Jasper's knock. “CHUCKIE.”
“Aw man.” Chuck collected his backpack and placed his hat back on his head. “Thanks again, guys, that was a good story!”
“No problem, son.” Fatz shifted his weight to yell, “JASPER, YOU BETTER NOT FORGET TO PAY US, OR I'MMA SMACK YOU UPSIDE THE HEAD.”
Chuck collected the money through the door and passed it along to Fatz. With one more wave goodbye, Chuck bounded into Uncle Jasper's car and headed for home.


On a side note, just in case, Little Chuck is Studio C Chuck, while Daddy Chuck is PTT Chuck.

[Isabella Price]

This is awesome. I love the "Editing!" xDD You got the characters perfect!

[Charon the Sabercat]

This is my third attempt posting this part of the fanfic. The first time I lost the whole thing 'cause it didn't post correctly, and the second time I was so disheartened by the first time that I didn't do it. The weird forum thing doesn't help, either. Why make it so you can't see your text when it's not selected? Is there any way I can mess with the settings? I WANT THE OLD FORUM BACK, DA- okay, I'm sick of myself now. Fanfic time!



Chuck and Jasper both stopped and stared in surprise as they found the entire Rockafire Explosion out of their trailer, spread out across the little sliver of yard they were allowed in as little clothes as they could get away with.
“Oh man, they're trailer trash, Chuck, we gotta bring you home,” Jasper whimpered, desperately clutching for Chuck's arm.
“It's okay, Uncle Jasper, they're just outside 'cause it's the first day of spring!” Chuck hopped away from Jasper's increasingly frantic grasps, bounding for the front door. “Right, Mr. Geronimo?”
“Yyyyep.” Fatz rolled onto his belly, exposing his silver back. “First hot day o' the year.”
“Who'd wanna be inside on a day like this?” asked a half-asleep Mitzi.
“Not to mention it's 80 out here and about 97 in the trailer,” Looney Bird added from his perch atop Billy Bob's back. Billy Bob waggled his head in what was vaguely supposed to be a nod, too heavily in his nap to do anything else. Jasper whimpered one last time before getting back in the car and driving away.
Chuck reappeared from the trailer and lie down beside Dook, who woke up long enough to see who was next to him before going right back to sleep.
&&&
“I broke a microphone once,” Dook said in his sleep.
Chuck woke up. “How?”
“Sang too loud.”
“... woah,” Chuck gasped, waking up slightly more. “... what song?”
“Delilah, by Tom Jones.”
Beach Bear stretched one long, lanky arm, spreading out his claws to the sky. “Which is funny, 'cause when we met Dook, he totally couldn't sing.”
“Yeah, I was bad.” Dook's ears twitched as he concentrated. “I was too focused on mah guitar to worry 'bout singin' at the tahme-”
“Wait, you play the guita- OOOH!” said Chuck. “That's why you don't hold your sticks right!”
“Uh... yeah...”
The conversation fizzled out after that.
&&&
“Hey, Mr. Beach Bear, why do you never eat meat?”
“I hardly ever eat meat, Chuck.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Health reasons. That and I was raised by pandas.”
“Really?!”
“No, but I dated one in high school and didn't want to gross her out, and it just kinda stuck.”
“Oh, okay.”
&&&
Chuck clenched his toes. “I'm bored.”
“Yeah, me too,” Dook agreed, not bothering to open his eyes.
Fatz picked himself back up, weight settling on his wide, callused knuckles. “Y'all hungry enough to head to the buffet?”
&&&
Dook read his fortune cookie. “'One is only a failure if he allows himself to be all right with it'.”
Beach Bear added, “In bed.”
The group giggled.
Mitzi read her fortune cookie. “'You will reap the benefits of a past friendship'.”
Beach Bear added, “In bed.”
The group giggled.
Billy Bob read his fortune cookie. “'Lucky numbers are 14-' oh wait, wrong side, 'Future enterprises will fail tah meet expectations'.”
Beach Bear added, uncertain, “In bed?”
“Nah, it doesn't work with that one,” Chuck stated, and the group agreed.
Rolfe read his fortune cookie. “'Creativity, like the atom, is brimming with explosive force'.”
The group was confused.
Fatz read his fortune cookie. “'You are awesome. Ev'ryone at the table should give you twen'y bucks'.”
Dook dumped his leftover lo mein on Fatz's head.
Beach Bear read Fatz's fortune cookie. “'You will find happiness in a future romance'.”
Rolfe went to add “In bed”, but the group all remembered Esmerelda at once and spent the next few minutes going “eeeew”.
Looney Bird read his fortune cookie. “'Future enterprises will fail to meet expectations'.”
“It's kinda creepy that Billy Bob and Looney Bird got that same one,” Chuck mentioned.
The group nodded.
Beach Bear read his fortune cookie. “'re Change is the enem'.”
Everyone took turns reading Beach Bears fortune.
Chuck read his fortune cookie. “'True friends are indistinguishable from family'.”
Everyone took turns getting a hug from Chuck.
&&&
“When I go home, I'm gonna ask Dad if I can bring some money next time so we can all eat somewhere,” Chuck said to the yard. Fatz made a soft noise of disagreement.
“Nah, Chuckie, you the child, we the adults. We're not gonna make ya pay for our dinner.”
“But I can do it!” Chuck cried in what was nearly a whine. “Dad's always pays for HIS friends to go out to dinner with him!”
“That's cause yo' daddy runs a business and makes his own money!” Fatz stretched a long arm over Beach Bear and patted Chuck roughly on the head, making his ears bounce. “You don' worry 'bout us, we doin' just fine.”
“Where would you take us, anyway?” Mitzi asked. “We're all sick of pizza.”
“I dunno,” Chuck shrugged. “I was thinking we could go get sushi or something. That's what Dad always does.”
“I tried some of that at the mall once,” said Mitzi. “It was okay.”
The conversation fizzled out again. Chuck didn't mind as much as he would in normal company, although when he tried to think about it, he couldn't really place why. Perhaps it was because when he looked around, the Rockafire Explosion seemed perfectly happy to be quiet around each other. His mom and dad were like that, sitting in a comfortable silence watching TV or doing paperwork. It was weird. He was somewhere that was nothing like his house... and yet it was exactly like home.
“... hey, um...” Chuck rolled onto his side, facing Beach Bear's shoulder. “Do you guys want to come to my birthday party?”
The band lit up. They all chirped their agreement, asking all at once how old he was going to be, where they were having it, would there be pizza (they weren't eating it), should they bring soda...
Arrangements were made, and Uncle Jasper picked Chuck up within the next 10 minutes.
About an hour later, finally driven inside by mosquitos and neighbors, Rolfe spoke up. “What the hell are we supposed to buy a millionaire's son, anyway?”
The next time they met was already looking awkward.

[RetroGirl]

You know, I could loan them a few plastic pink flamingos to spruce that place up! Lovin' the story!

[Charon the Sabercat]

Now with line spacing for easy reading. Have fun!


It was five years ago they got that call. Clarence “Uncle” Klunk had his first child, a hefty little baby girl. The band had all gathered around the phone to shout their well-wishes into the mouthpiece of the receiver, hoping that Klunk would have nothing but good luck and cheer for his new life of parenthood. He'd even offered to invite them to the birthday party, which they readily accepted. They didn't know which birthday party, but they agreed nonetheless.

It, eventually, turned out to be the fifth birthday party. Klunk picked up the lot of them in an off-white mini-van, barely enough room for the whole lot of them amongst the presents and the overly-complicated booster seat. They chatted in the van, reminisced and whatnot, and payed no heed to where they were going until they got there.

Chuck E. Cheese's.

Rolfe summed up their reaction pretty well.

“Oh, no.”

&&&

Chuck E. Cheese's Pizza Place was so... so much smaller than they remembered their own restaurant being. The simple, square room was divided into sections by half-walls and counters. The video games were up next to the door, the tables dividing the stage from the screaming children.

Beach Bear coughed. “Oh god- oh god, it all, like- it all came back to me at once.”

“What did?” asked Fatz.

“The memories... the smell... the everything!” Beach Bear's voice rose in intensity. “Oh god, it's like I just went back in time 20 years...”

“It ain't that bad,” Dook mentioned, eyes scanning the tiny place while his ears twitched. “It's a whole lot quieter than it used tah be.”

Klunk released his child into the fray and handed the lot of them a cup of tokens each. “Go on in, enjoy yourselves! It's a party!”

“Oh gee, I can't wait to play in the ball pit,” Rolfe snarked, tucking the tokens into his vest pocket and callously tossing the cup behind him. “When does the pizza get here?”

“In just a few minutes!” Klunk laughed, oblivious to the Rockafire Explosion's varying levels of discomfort. “Ain't it great? Just like the good ol' days!”

Fatz stared for a moment. “... Klunk, our 'good ol' days' were a whole lot diff'rent from yours.”

Thankfully, Klunk didn't notice Fatz's temper and instead raced off to get a picture of his daughter on the horse racing game.

“... all right, y'all, Klunk is clearly more of an idiot tha-”

An employee gently tapped Fatz on the shoulder. “Excuse me, you're blocking the door.”

&&&

“All right, y'all, Klunk is clearly more of an idiot than we firs' thought,” announced Fatz from his spot at the end of the table. “We just gotta sneak out without him noticin' us, and he'll forget we were even invited.”

Billy Bob fiddled anxiously with his plastic fork. “Maybe if we sneak out one by one?”

“Nah, 'cause then we'll all be loitering outside the restaurant waiting for everybody else. People'll think we're up to something,” Looney Bird stated.

Rolfe scoffed. “I can't believe you are all thinking about it this much. We eat the pizza, take the cake, and leave. Simple as that.”

“It ain't simple as that, Rolfe, because we don't want Klunk to not invite us to the next party,” scolded Fatz.

Dook raised his hand. “Wait, we're tryin' not to get invited?”

“No, we're trying not to not get invited.”

“... wait-”

“Look,” interrupted Fatz. “This ain't a discussion of semetics here-”

Mitzi looked up from her children's placemat. “Semantics.”

“Septics, right, this is about us stayin' friends with Klunk until he invites us to a better birthday party!”

“Who's to say he will?” Rolfe snapped. “Klunk might be one of those nimrods who holds all his kids birthday parties at Chuck E. Cheese until they're seventeen!”

Beach Bear sighed. “And to think, we used to be the place 'those nimrods' would bring their kids to.”

“Come on, guys, we're getting' all worked up about this for no good reason.” Billy Bob put down his fork and crossed his claws. “Let's all just stay until after Klunk's daughter's opened her presents, and we'll head home. It's not that long of a walk.”

The band sighed in resignation, settling down into their chairs.

Rolfe snuffed, “Well... when they say 'Happy', I'm not saying 'birthday'.”

“Aw, now you're just bein' a fuddy-duddy,” said Beach Bear.

“Besides,” added Billy Bob, “we can all watch Chuck do his stage show. Won't that be fun? I'm sure it's starting soon.”

The band checked their long-ago forged “show alarms”, rusty from lack of use yet still ticking away, and found that the show was due to start about five minutes ago. They looked up from their little table of misery-

And there was Chuck, barely a whisper in the air, alone on stage and singing to an empty showroom.

The band watched for a long minute. The stage was barely any wider than Chuck was, made for a smaller him. A TV screen beside him, recessed into the wall, showed him with his band mates, frolicking about and having fun much like the Rockafire Explosion did back in the late 80s. There was hardly a prop to keep the attention away from the little mouse, just a clock and a few flashing lights.

As they watched, the show ended. They weren't sure the show ended, waiting more and more anxiously for the curtain to close, until the lights all went out. Chuck's eyes scanned the room thoughtlessly, arms swinging and tail twitching to an imaginary tune.

Beach Bear laid his head down on the table. “Anybody have a Band-Aid for my soul?”

&&&

They spent the afternoon in Chuck's empty gaze. Dook and Looney Bird tried to play a few arcade games to distract themselves, but couldn't find anything that could keep their attention. Rolfe found himself out of tokens within a few minutes, having spent them all on SkeeBall and having about 60 tickets to show for it. He traded them in for two jumbo Toostie Rolls and a sticker. Mitzi immersed herself in the other guests of the party, mostly humans with the occassional dog or cat that could make enough to live in a human suburb. Fatz and Beach Bear remained at their posts at the end of the birthday table, watching Klunk's daughter come back for token refills over and over again.

Billy Bob sat at another group's table, directly in front of the stage, and just watched. Watched Chuckie's eyes light up when the songs began. Watched his face go blank as the spotlights switched off of him and onto the screen where his friends spoke their pre-written lines into the camera. Watched his hands twitch helplessly at the curtain cues.

Watched as Klunk kept going back for more tokens. And going back. And going back.

&&&

It was closing time before they left, having spent a miserable 4 hours at Chuck E. Cheese's. Chuck met them at the front door while Klunk was making small talk with the manager about how great the place was.

“Sorry you guys were so bored,” said Chuck, ears flattened against his head. “You're not really part of our target demographic anymore.”

“What do 'target demographics' have to do with havin' two workin' lanes of Skee-Ball?!” Fatz hollered.

“I'm sorry!” Chuck squeaked. “I've tried talking to Dad about it, but it's the manager's job to hire a technician to fix the games! I'm just here to entertain the kids!”

Billy Bob let out the closest sound he could make to a growl without it being a real growl, claws raking his ears. “I'm just- I'm still sore about that curtain! You don' even get a chair to sit in all day, and they take away your curtain?!”

“It's the manager's job, and the manager here just makes sure the bathrooms are clean so we don't get in trouble with the health department again.” Chuck wrung his hands nervously before grabbing the end of his shirt and pulling hard. “I'm really sorry, guys.”

The Rockafire Explosion grunted out their “it's okay”s before Klunk made a move to get in the car... and then turned right back around to turn in his daughter's tickets. Looney Bird absently banged his head against the wall.

“If it helps, my birthday party won't be here.”

“That does help,” said Fatz. “Where is it?”

“Sunrise Park,” said Chuck. “We're renting the building and having a big barbeque and stuff. I'll get Uncle Jasper to pick you up.”

Klunk finally left. The Rockafire Explosion was asleep in the car before Klunk's daughter was.

&&&

Written because I went to CEC today with my little sister, and it was just AAAUUUGH. The only thing that's left there for me to do is watch the Chuck-bot slowly break and play that game where you make the whiffle ball in the tube float in the green zone until the countdown starts and you freak out and drop the ball.

[RetroGirl]

Awww. Poor Little Chuck. What a lousy gig. Thanks for the update! At least something good came of your visit to CEC today.