Author Topic: A Creative Problem [New Story!]  (Read 8995 times)

Jonas

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on: September 05, 2012, 04:41:19 PM
This was written together with Nitrinoxus and Thronezwei. It uses the Dreaming setting
====

Part 1

The mid-October air was crisp and bracing, which was a polite way of saying it was frigging cold. The streets of Bridgeport, Ontario, were largely empty as people hid in cars and coffee shops to avoid the temperature. For a pair of friends, this sudden drop in temperature had caught them unawares as they shared a walk home from their respective jobs. Seeking shelter, the two took cover in the closest store that wasn't jam packed with fellow refugees. The end result was the two wandering through an antique store under the watchful eye of its wizened owner. The first man calmly inspected each piece with forethought and appreciation for history. The second had to restrain himself from fiddling with the displays.
 
The former of the two stopped near one of the walls, stooping down to get a closer look at the shop's collection of clockwork gizmos and doodads. Among these was what had caught his eye as he passed: a small, crystal-walled box with brass and bronze inlay. He lifted the lid, admiring the mechanisms it held as the gears and wheels plucked out a soothing melody on a shining steel comb. "You are one beautiful piece of craftsmanship," he murmured, a few strands of his dark hair drifting out of place and casting shadows over his pale face.
 
His friend peeked over his shoulder, rust-red hair bouncing at his movements as he hummed along to the tune, waving a hand like a conductor's baton. An overly eager swoop nearly knocked over a vase. He smiled sheepishly at the stern look of the shopkeeper.

"It sounds nice, Zane." He said awkwardly.
 
Zane nodded, crystal-blue eyes looking across the rest of the collection. "Sure does, Sparky," he said, the melody fading away as he shut the lid of the box.
 
Sam 'Sparky' grinned. He loved the nickname Zane had picked for him. It was always odd to others that someone like Sam could be friends with one as dour as Zane, but he knew better. He could tell that there was something fun nestled under his friend's shell, and he was determined to stick around until he saw it out. "All this stuff is nice to look at, but not something I'd want to buy - too fragile, you know? Anything piquing your interest or should we see if we can survive the run to Tim Horton's?"
 
"This music box has, actually," the Zane said, lifting the elegant device off its resting place. "It doesn't seem right that such artistry should be collecting dust in a shop."
 
"Awesome!" Chimed Sam. "Oi! How much is the music box?" he hollered to the storekeeper.
 
"$75 for you. And would you mind not shouting in my store? This isn't a mall."
 
"$75! That's overkill!" Sam marched up to the counter. "Your box is nice but not that nice. $40 even, definitely."
 
"You've gotten on my bad side. 75 dollars is my offer - take it or leave it." The shopkeeper didn't look like he was going to budge off of that price.
 
"You can't do that! Jacking up the price for my friend just 'cause you got a problem with me!"
 
He turned to Zane, "Tell him!"
 
"Well, I'll agree it doesn't seem fair, but..."
 
Sam rubbed his forehead. "Seriously, man. You need to get some conviction in your bones. Show some anger for once!"
 
The little bell above the door range as a third young man entered. He removed a wool cap, revealing a hat head of dark blonde hair and some glasses. He'd seen the argument from outside, and his friends seemed to be at the root of it. "Something wrong, guys?"
 
Sam beamed at the newcomer. "Ian! Awesome timing! Come straighten this guy out! He's trying to gouge Zane!"
 
The shopkeeper frowned. "It's my store and I can charge what I like for why I like. You're lucky I haven't thrown you out yet."
 
"Seems to me that it's not Zane you're mad at, though." Ian looked over his friends. "I know Sam and Zane, and I'm willing to bet it's the former you're upset with."
 
The old man inclined his head. Ian continued, "I mean sure, he came in here with Sam, but it's not quite fair to punish one person for someone else annoying you." Ian sighed heavily as he stuffed his cap into his coat pocket and took his gloves off. His eyes glanced to the nameplate on the back of the register. "It's Mr. Reyn, right? Is there a price in the middle that you two can agree on?"
 
Sam grumbled. He looked at Zane. "$50 good for you?
 
"50 is fine."
 
"Will 50 be acceptable, sir? It's reasonable enough to be fair to you and him."
 
A sigh. "Yes, $50 is all right. Thank you."
 
A nod as the sandy-haired youth smiled. "Awesome. Thank you for this."
 
Zane pulled his wallet from his coat pocket and setting two twenties and a ten on the counter. "Sorry for the trouble, sir."
 
The three stepped outside, huddling under their coats as they waited for the bus. Sam slapped his friend on the back."That was awesome, thanks a bunch!" Sam beamed. "No idea how you're always able to do that, Ian. People just... listen to you."
 
Ian smiled a little at Sam's words - he really didn't like seeing people he knew fighting, and ever since he'd been a kid, had developed a habit of trying to step. It didn't always work, but more often than not, it seemed to. "I've had a lot of practice - probably helps that the owner's more bark than bite."
 
Zane nodded, the padded box protecting his purchase secure in the inner pockets of his heavy coat. "So... you guys wanna hang out at my place, or something?"
 
"I'm game!" Sam chimed
 
"I could go for that, man. Got plenty of time on my hands."
 
The bus took ten frigid minutes to arrive, but soon the three were en route to Zane's house. The ride was a little bumpy, but worth it once they arrived at their friend's centrally-heated abode.
 
"Ok. Zane. I am raiding your pantry." Sam said after taking his coat off. "Hot chocolates all around sound good?"
 
"No marshmallows for me, but sure." Ian nodded, eager to see the music box his friend had bought. He was no stranger to cold winters, but Ian hated cold weather with a passion regardless.
 
"No 'mallows and a splash of milk in mine, Spark." Zane said, removing the music box from his jacket and setting it on the kitchen table before hanging his coat and fetching his friends'.
 
Sam stuck his head out from the kitchen, giving Zane a strange look. "You don't even have marshmallows, man." he chided with a grin before returning. Soon the three were sitting in the living room clutching mugs of hot chocolate and looking at the music box. Sam had added a dollop of whipped cream to his.
 
Ian admired the item. He opened the lid and let its tune chime through the room. "This is one fancy music box you got, Zane...damn. I'm surprised that Reyn let it go for that little. Looks like it'd be worth triple that much."
 
Sam, who was in the process of drinking, snorted. "Ack!" he spluttered, "Gah, damn you're right." he said after recovering. "I bet he knew it was defective!"
 
Without warning he grabbed the box and began turning it over."Yea! See here!" He gestured to a spot next to the dial. "The wood's faded differently. Something's been covered up!"
 
He began picking at the spot. It was only a small square that had been replaced, so Sam was able to force it out with a bit of finagling. The section slipped out onto the coffee table, where he picked it up curiously.
 
"Well that's weird." Sam commented. "There's a design on the bottom. Here, take a look."
 
"Huh...looks like...I dunno..." Ian squinted his eyes at the symbols - they almost looked symmetrical when he did, but it was hard to take everything in. "Try squinting...looks like something."
 
"Why would you bother carving something like that if you weren't going to show it off?" Sam asked perplexed.
 
"Maybe they wanted to hide it...perhaps whoever carved it made a mistake."
 
Even though he was the one who asked, Sam was only half-paying attention. He had picked up the box again and was peering into the hole the panel had been covering.
 
"I doubt it, Ian," Zane said, examining the carving more closely. "This piece is newer than the rest of the box. Whoever added this must've done so intentionally... question is, why?"
 
"Hey," Sam interjected. "I think there's a second dial in here. I can't... reach it since the hole's so small. Zane, do you have a flashlight and some tweezers?"
 
Zane nodded, setting his hot chocolate down. "I think I do. Hang on."

Zane held the flashlight steady while Sam maneuvered the tweezers into grabbing the second dial.
 "This reminds me of when I used to pretend I was Indiana Jones as a kid," he giggled as he started turning the dial. "I'd go around prodding all the appliances and pretending hidden doors and switches would open up."
 
Ian chuckled as he began humming the movie theme. "Ever wind up breaking anything?"
 
"Nothing I couldn't blame on the cat." Sam said, eyes shifting.
 
After a few more moments of fiddling, the second dial clicked and began playing its song. This tune was very different from the one the box had played at the shop. While the first had been smooth and soothing, this song's deep chords and serpentine melody could easily be described as demonic. Looking at the small, crystalline box, Zane wondered how its clockwork innards could be producing such a menacing harmonic.
 
As the three watched, stunned silent by the box's encore performance, a fine black mist began to pour from within the transparent walls of the machine. Higher and higher it swirled, growing thicker and denser, the music box continuing to play oblivious to the ominous cloud above it. As the petrified audience looked on, the cloud began to solidify, forming a black clad body clutching a fine top hat in one hand and a black shoulder bag in the other. With a flourish, the shape placed the hat atop a raven-haired head. The figure turned, looking over its shadowy shoulder at the trio gaping at the gaunt, ebon-garbed man standing on the coffee table. He spun round and tipped his hat to the three as the music box finished its nightmarish symphony.
 
The man stretched and beamed at the three. "Wonderful! Marvelous! And you weren't bad yourselves, either! Like butterflies in the breeze - or salmon in a hot tub!"
 
He paused, then bowed. "But I digress. You have freed me, and so bask in the presence of... the Artist!"
 
"The wha? How'd you end up in that music box?" Ian looked incredibly confused, his mouth slightly agape.
 
"Very uncomfortably! Ugh, such a nasty thing, getting all scrunched up like that for so long. I've had an itch on my nose for what felt like AEONS but now that I'm out it's poof - gone! Like so much stray crumbs."
 
The Artist clapped his hands together. "But that is in the past - the horrible, horrible past. Now it's the present, and soon, the future!" His eyes swept the room, taking in every detail. "Oh dear," he tutted, "none of this will do. All so drab and unimaginative. No flair! No fun! Please tell me this is a freak and unrepresentative home which will soon be demolished by rampaging hordes of proper taste?"
 
Zane blinked, unsure what to make of this unusual man who'd popped out of a music box and started insulting his decor. "...Umm... I don't know if there is any rampaging proper taste around here," he said, still trying to wrap his mind around this.
 
"Well that's tragic! Clearly I've been away for far too long!" the Artist's eyes gleamed. "Taste! This world needs taste! And smell, but taste is what I can provide so we'll leave the smells to someone else."
 
"We've uh...got taste...but how long were you...uh...in the box?" Ian wasn't entirely sure on the man's sanity, given what he was going on about. He also sounded more than a little Scottish at moments.
 
"Too long. Far too long. Also, no idea. Could be a week, could be a century. I could've been shut in next month and ended up out beforehand - no real way of telling." He cracked his knuckles. "Alrighty! Here's what I'm thinking. The world needs more me, and you three need a reward for getting me out of that box, so I'll be making you part of my portfolio! It'll be fun! There'll be benefits! Health breaks! Coffee insurance!"

Sam leaned back towards the others. "Hey..." he whispered quickly, "I'm all for fun and adventure... but we might be in over our heads with this."
 
"No kidding," Zane muttered, warily watching the Artist at work.
 
Ian, now completely convinced this man was insane, leaned towards Sam and nodded. Still, perhaps there was a way to him to just leave? Insane didn't always mean unreasonable. "We're uh...flattered, but we're all gainfully employed. Perhaps we can exchange e-mails on the weekend or something along those lines?"
 
The Artist nodded understandingly. "Ah, I see. Thank you very much for informing me. It makes things so much easier, really." He floated over to the door and took something out of his bag. The man began rubbing whatever it was over the door, much to the trio's confusion. This didn't last, as they soon saw that the door had begun to vanish. The wood began to fade from existence and reveal a solid wall as the Artist literally erased the only exit.
 
"Thank you so much, again, for alerting. It would be terrible if you ran off first."'
 
Ian crossed his arms. "We don't get a say in this? That hardly seems fair to us - we did do you a favor by letting you out. It's only fair that you return the favor by letting us go."
 
The Artist moved next to Ian in a single fluid motion and peered into the youth's eyes. "Hmm, you do that sort of thing a lot, don't you? The whole mediator bit? I can see it, yes, definitely a bit of a judgey-udgey in you. Not a lot to work with but I think I can manage."
 
Without warning he grabbed at Ian's head and pulled away carrying a single wisp of hair. From his bag he drew a large lump of clay and began winding the strand around it. The gray mound rippled and flowed until it had reshaped itself into the likeness of a human.

The Artist cracked his fingers again. "Now then, watch a master at work! If I know my mythology right...."
 
"If you...what?"
 
The Artist began molding the doll. Ian felt something pressing into his hands. He looked down to see his skin rippling and churning, kneading like dough. Or like clay. Ian looked up sharply, eyes locking on to the clay doll. The Artist was in the process of reshaping it. As he worked, a wracking sensation struck Ian's body. It wasn't painful, but by all rights it should have been as he felt his bones and muscles squirm.
 
As the doll's hands started to look like more canine paws, Ian's followed suit. Claws lengthened out from his fingernails, pads puffed out on his fingers and palms, all the while black fur began to spread. His frame rippled as the Artist continued to mold the doll, and Ian felt himself bulk up slightly.
 
As his body grew more toned and covered in fur, his pants altered themselves. The fabric turned black and manifested a gun holster and a hole in the back through which a bushy tail poked through.
 
"The hell are you doin' to me?" Ian asked. He was startled by how his voice had changed. It was deeper with a slight drawl.

"Well I can't use the full Anubis theme, can I? Egypt was cliché when Alexandria was new. If you're going to be the decider, at least do it in style!"

The Artist went to work on the doll's lower body. Ian almost fell over as his legs and feet were wrenched into a digitigrade position. His shoes reformed as a pair of wrappings around the unpadded portions of his long, clawed paws. The transforming youth stumbled as he adjusted to the new stance.

His upper garments changed shape from a simple shirt to a dark body armor with a bandolier slung over a shoulder. Moving upwards, Ian grunted as the Artist started tugging at the doll's ears. Sam and Zane got a good view as Ian's ears grew long and triangular. His face artfully extended out into a canine muzzle, nose black and wet, teeth sharp. Ian had to squint when his eyes changed to piercing amber.

To top off the changes, a long tan duster settled onto Ian and a gold star-shaped badge manifested over the jacket's breast.
 
The Artist nodded as the jackal-man looked himself over. He looked at the badge. "What am I, some kinda sheriff? Who the hell are you?" he demanded.
 
"The Artist, of course! I've tried being other people, it never worked out. And you, my fine friend, are a perfect picture of professionalism!" The man made a frame with his fingers and eyed Ian through it. "I think I'll call it, 'the Arbitrator'!"
 
"It? I've gotta name, y'know. It's Ian...and you've had your fun with me. Mind lettin' the others go?" His ears were laying back in annoyance for a moment, but he forced himself to be calm. There had to be a way out of this.
 
Zane slowly lowered himself onto the couch, torn between terror and amazement. He'd just watched this odd, impossible man turn one of his friends into what Anubis would've looked like if he lived in the Old West, using nothing but a strand of hair and a mound of what he could only describe as voodoo clay. Though a part of him knew a similar fate likely awaited himself and Sam, he couldn't help but feel strangely impressed by the Artist's skill. "Incredible..." he muttered.

"Damnit, Zane! Now isn't the time to be calm!" Sam exclaimed.

"Yea, Zane!" The Artist chided in a mimicry of Sam's voice. He chuckled before flowing over to Sam. "You're an excitable one, aren't you? All twitchy and titchy, eh? Oooh, but you're fun I can tell! I bet you're just bouncy on the good days."
 
Sam stepped back. "I-I'm really not..."
 
The Artist grabbed his arm. "No point protesting, lad - it's written all over your insides, I'll say! And you're the one who spun me free, aren't you? Well surprise! That means you get to be next!"
 
He produced a sketchbook and an oversized pen, which he twirled effortlessly across his fingers before stabbing Sam in the shoulder.
 
"OW!" Sam yelped. "What was that....f..f..." he stumbled on the spot, suddenly muddled. It had just become incredibly hard to think. He tried speaking but his tongue sloshed around in his mouth. It took a moment for Sam to realize that this had been done literally. His whole body started to run like a water-damaged painting, flowing into the pen still embedded in his shoulder. Ian and Zane were able to catch a terrified look before Sam's body completely lost integrity. It was sucked up into the pen just as soon as it liquefied.
 
Zane was dumbstruck and at a total loss for words. Ian's eyes went wide with fear as his friend was sucked up like water through a straw. He wasn't normally stricken for words, but all he could manage at the sight was an inarticulate noise of shock and anger. Quickly recovering, Ian's ears drew back and lips curled into a snarl. "What th' HELL did you DO?"
 
He bared his claws and advanced on the imp. The fur on his cheek rippled as something hurtled past his head and into the wall with a sharp *tunk*. Ian turned to see a pencil embedded several inches into the wall behind him. The Artist had hurled it like a throwing knife.

"Do not interrupt a master at work!" the creature bellowed. He crossed his legs, floating in mid-air, and propped the sketchbook open on his lap. The next several minutes were filled with a painful silence as the Artist used Sam as the ink for whatever it was he'd decided to draw.

"Aaaaand.... done!" He finally exclaimed proudly. He turned the book over and whacked the back of it. Out of the book and onto the floor fell what could only be described as a cartoon fox. Its small body - only half Ian's height -  was surrounded by a black outline. A large white-tipped, bushy tail hung behind it. The fox wore nothing save for a pair of white three-fingered gloves and blue shorts. Its colours, from the white its paws to the orange of its fur, were unnaturally bright and uniform.

"Y-yip?" Sam squeaked slowly. His eyes were currently a pair of dizzy swirls but soon settled into large blues. He looked around. "I-Ian! Zane! I was just-yip!"
 
Sam's eyes went literally wide as he looked at himself and felt along his muzzle, ears, and ink-furred chest. "What's this supposed to be!?"
 
"Terrifically toonish, of course!" The Artist boomed with pride. He made another frame with his fingers. "Title: 'The Inner Child'. A nice ring, wouldn't you say?"
 
"No! I wouldn't!" Sam yipped in protest as he bounced up onto his paws. It might've been the height difference, but his expression really did seem like that of a pouting child.
 
Ian grimaced. The Artist didn't seem very interested in their protests, much less that they were alive and not material for whatever he was doing. "Now see here...ya've had your fun. You got t' change me and Sam - how 'bout we call it even and you mosey on home? After ya change us back, 'course."
 
The Artist tilted his head. "Why would I stop if I'm not even done? You don't stop chewing food halfway through! You'd choke! Get a big ol' slice of melon in your throat and die. Nasty business, that. So I'd prefer to finish. Avoids melon death. And there's just one to go, too!" he chimed while gliding over to Zane. "Now, what to make of you..."
 
"My family doesn't even know what to make of me," Zane said coldly, looking up at the Artist. "I rather doubt someone I've just met could fare any better."
 
The Artist looked disappointed. "Oh. You're one of those, aren't you? All bland and uninteresting. I could be dancing naked or kicking baby walruses or making baby walruses kick puppies and your look wouldn't even change, I bet!  But let's see... there's definitely something under there..." He closed one eye and squinted. "Yes... definitely... but it's so... mixed. You'll be quite interesting to work on."
 
He cast about the room and settled his gaze on the music box. With an inspired grin he began to fiddle with the box's mechanism. The three couldn't help but notice that the dial was turning as he worked.
 
As the Artist fiddled, the box began to play and a white mist seeped through the man's fingers to weave its way around Zane's feet. The young man attempted to kick the mist off, noticing with a sense of dread that the musical fog was making his body feel heavier and heavier. Alongside the heaviness came a numb, tingling sensation, all feeling fleeing his body. Zane felt his limbs go limp at his sides, his eyes drifting down the length of his torso as the changes began.
 
As the now immobile youth looked on, his clothes began to harden, fusing to his body as their hue and color changed from black to a metallic golden brown. The changes climbed, crystalline blues and gleaming golds appearing in the cracks in what appeared to be a forming suit of armor. Zane watched the ornately decorated metal plates ratcheting themselves down on his chest, vaguely aware of a stretching on his head. He closed his eyes, noticing the almost hypnotic tick-tick-ticking of the music box as the changes overtook him.
 
Although Zane couldn't tell, his friends could clearly see that the metal plating was not armor, and the ticking wasn't coming from the box. As the music had woven its charms, Zane's body had been changed from flesh, blood, and bone to bronze, crystal, and clockwork. His face now bore a metallic muzzle jutting forward beneath a pair of oversized ears and a mess of waving, lightly glowing tendrils of energy that could pass for hair. A dyad of meticulously patterned, artistic wings stretched behind the former human's back, a wire-lined tail flicking almost casually at his side. His feet, since changed into three-toed, digitigrade paws, rested heavily on the floor, the steely claws at the tips of his bronze-plated fingers partially retracted. Where Zane had been, a chimeric clockwork construct now rested, glowing blue eyes flickering open as the song came to an end once again.
 
Sam inched towards the machine, ears and tail low. "Z-zane?" he said tentatively. "Y-you in there?"
 
"My...god...what th'..." Ian's mouth hung open in a mixture of awe and fear. Zane looked incredibly intimidating in his new form. A constant ticking sound emanated from his body. "Zane... "
 
Zane blinked. "Yeah, I feel fine," he tried to say, but the only sound that came out of his mechanized mouth was a metallic vibration not unlike the notes of a harmonica; his hands flew to his throat, eyes going wide.
 
The Artist chuckled. "Ta-da! A golem! Perfect for someone so bland like yourself, wouldn't you say? Of course, I had to spruce it up a bit. You're dull as an egg on the inside, but FABULOUS on the outside!" He made another frame with his fingers. "How about... 'Metallized Music'?"
 
The golem glared up at the Artist, eyes burning furiously. "As if changing me wasn't bad enough, you went and made me mute, too?!" he raged, a melodic stream of notes and trills replacing every word like a musical censor.
 
"Oh, so NOW you want to express yourself! Well, I hope you've learned your lesson." The man chided. He gazed around at the musical golem, the cartoon fox, and the jackal sheriff. "Ah, such a wonderful collection and I've only been free for an hour!" He took a deep breath and smiled. "And there's a whole world of bad taste just waiting for me! Such a fine time to be alive. Well, actually it's a terrible time with so much horrible, horrible taste running rampant, but I shall persevere!"
 
The Artist tipped his hat and snapped his fingers. The door reappeared. "Ta-ta for now, my beauties! Try not to get damaged while I'm gone - you're the first originals in my new portfolio after all!" In a blink, he had flowed out through the door and away.
 
Stunned silence filled the room for several moments until Sam couldn't take it any longer. "What the fox just happened?"

"Technically speaking, phoenixes are actually pretty flammable." --Donnie


Pontos

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Reply #1 on: September 05, 2012, 06:01:02 PM
Nice! I read it on FA and thought it was a finished story, but i notice now that it says "Part 1" which is quite cool since I want to see what else this Artist guy will do and how this trio will fare |:P

Zane's new form is cool and imaginative, but also creepy when you think just how handicapped he is.
I also like how you used the ink pen TF method for Sam, hehe.



Jonas

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Reply #2 on: September 06, 2012, 09:19:00 AM
Part 2
===

After a couple confused minutes filled with irritated mechanical trills and a toon fox being peeled - quite literally - from the ceiling, the trio of transformees had settled on a course of action. They reconvened in Zane's living room, a computer, a scanner, and a pad and pencil joining them. A quick tracing of the symbol that had been blocking the Artist's musical prison had been scanned into the laptop, though the group's searches for either the carving's origin or meaning had been fruitless so far.

Sam grumbled. Losing half his height was bad enough, but with Ian and Zane getting bigger he had no chance of seeing the computer over Zane's shoulder. He resorted to standing on the chimera's tail. The brass plating felt cool to the touch yet a thrum of activity could be felt beneath the surface. It tickled his paws as he peered at the computer screen.

"Another dead end? Let me have a go! I bet I can find something!"

Zane picked up the pad of paper and scrawled out a quick, Something'? You'd find everything, Sparky.

Ian grumbled, "We're gettin' nowhere fast. Seems like every link we've dug up so far either ain't what we're lookin' for, or just don't tell us enough."

The chimera trilled in agreement as he wrote, Maybe we should find Reynolds. He sold us the box, so he probably knows where it came from.

"Bleh," Sam stuck his tongue out at the idea, "that guy's probably still mad at me." A lightbulb popped up over his head. "Oh! But he won't know it's me, will he? Sounds like a good plan, then!"

"Problem is gettin' there without attractin' too much attention. I can kinda pass for normal if I hide my tail and put a hood up..."

Sam bounced up and clung to one of Zane's wings. "Maybe, but we'd need a pretty big coat to hide these!"

Thanks for reminding me.

"Yip... sorry. But hey! Maybe we don't need to hide! It's the middle of October after all. If you saw a jackal sheriff, a fox, and a robot walking down the street what would you think? We look weird, but it's two weeks from Halloween! Right now, weird means blending in!"

Ian looked like he was about to object, but he just chuckled. "Might be onto somethin' there...'course, a lotta folks might think you're a kid."

Sam grinned. "Then you two can be my parents." He looked over at Zane. "All cool with you, 'dad'?"

The golem turned, giving the toon on his wing a silent glare. "Don't push your luck, kiddo," he mouthed before flinging the fox across the room with a strong flap.

"Heh...maybe Spark bein' a toon ain't so bad after all." Ian chuckled as the cartoon fox hit the wall with a splat and flattened against it harmlessly. Or as harmless as cartoon violence got.

Sam's yip was muffled by his current two-dimensional status. He fell off the wall and onto the floor like a piece of cardboard. After a few moments he managed to leap up and return to normal dimensions with an audible *poip*.

"Point taken..." he muttered as he padded over, though he hung back next to Ian. Getting squished hadn't hurt him. During the confused period after the Artist had left, the three had all spent some time making sure of their respective situations. Sam hadn't felt anything resembling bones or muscle or even veins beneath his rubbery-soft fur. It seemed that he really was just ink and paint through and through. He was also much lighter and felt more energized, two facts which getting flattened did nothing to curb.

"Going out as-is still seems like it's worth trying."   

"Don't got any other options - can't stay cooped up in here forever."

Zane gave a two-tone hum that sounded vaguely like an "Okay."

The evidence of the Artist's meddling was easily visible as the trio moved through town towards the antique shop. A few of the buildings were painted in Technicolor and the sidewalk had been replaced by a mosaic of stained glass. The light from the sun created a small lightshow beneath their feet.

Fortunately for the them, it was still cold enough that many people were hidden away in the restaurants and shops, save for a handful of brave and/or crazy souls and a pair of polar bears that the friends guessed weren't in costume, either.

Zane looked around at the Artist's handiwork, watching the lights from the sidewalk dancing off the snowy dots that looked like they'd drifted out of a Van Gogh painting. He gave a humming "Wow..." in spite of himself. The lunatic had turned his life and the lives of his friends upside down, he had talent.

Sam nodded in agreement to Zane. "It's so pretty... he really does have a good eye. Completely insane... but that guy is good." He stuck out his tongue and caught some of the dots. "Yip! It tastes like a popsicle!"

Some of the bystanders were looking around in amazement as well. The polar bears were less amused, and were groaning and growling amongst themselves, apparently in an argument.

"How far on do you think this goes for?" Sam asked between tastes of the snow.

"Dunno...looks like for at least the block we're on. Knowin' the Artist, he's just makin' this up as inspiration strikes...and d'ya think eatin' that stuff's healthy?"

The fox grinned. "No clue, but it's yummy! You two should give it a try!"

The sheriff jackal gave a look like he'd just smelled something unpleasant. "All th' same to you...I'll pass. Dunno if Zane can eat anythin' anymore, too."

The chimera gave an odd trill of a laugh, jotting a message on a smaller pad of paper and handing it to Ian. Well, at least I won't have to worry about grocery bills.

"One way of makin' the most outta this. We really gotta get you a speak 'n spell, though."

"Sometimes your notes sound like words though," Sam chimed in. "Maybe you just have to concentrate?" The fox nodded at his own suggestion. "Yea, I bet that's it! Like, maybe you just have to try talking, but in a different way? When I came back from being flattened, it was sort of like I was jumping, but with my whole body instead of my legs. You might just need to try talking with a different part of your throat."

Zane nodded, carefully forming a buzzing series of "Test, test" as they walked. After a few blocks the buzzing began to decrease, eventually leaving only a vague hum to his words. "Okay, I think I've got it," he said, noting with a wince that his words now carried with them a constant melodic tone as though he was singing his sentence. "I've got a set of guitar strings where my vocal cords used to be, but I think I'll manage."

Sam bounced happily. "You sound good, Zane! Definitely better than your usual dulcet tones."

Zane's ears flattened. "Gee. Thanks."

Ian let out a low whistle at this - whatever had been done to Zane seemed more extensive than what had happened to him, and even Sam. He almost felt like a test for the Artist - seeing if he could still change things before trying harder concepts out. "No kiddin'...probably kill on one of them talent shows. Kinda odd, though...just me, or did our changes get harder 'n harder to do for him?"

"He looked like he was having fun with that clay model, actually." Sam considered, rubbing his muzzle thoughtfully. "I dunno about me since I wasn't really, err, conscious while he was doing mine... He said something about having trouble with Zane, though. Maybe the more he finds something dull, the more over the top he changes it?"

"Could be onto somethin' there. Tryin' ta make the whole world more excitin', whether or not they actually like it."

"He said as much, I think. Vanquishing bad taste and all that." Sam looked down at the lightshow playing beneath his paws. "Be kinda neat, though. Crazy and insane, but neat."

"Neat's one way of puttin' it...I wouldin't mind this so damn much if he'd given me a damn choice in the matter."

"Could've been worse, Ian," Zane shrugged. "You're in better shape than ever, for one thing."

"Me too!" Sam yipped. "Or I think I am. I'm not sure if I have any muscles any more. Does that count as anything?" A large ? mark had appeared over his head as he mulled over his current state of fitness.

"You've got your youth back," Zane observed.

"Age is just a number!"

The canine nodded as they walked along - he looked to be in excellent shape. "I'm not sayin' it's awful, mind...just that I'd have liked a choice." A sly grin crept over his face as he looked at the fox's question mark. "Hey Sam! Ain't that your mother over there?"

"YIP!" A large ! shot up over the fox as he dove under Ian's jacket. "Did she see me?" he squeaked.

The clockwork chimera shook his head, chuckling at his friend's setup. "You just couldn't resist, could you, Ian?"

"Hah...nah. I couldn't resist seein' if that'd happen. Your mom ain't around, Sam...just havin' a lil' bit of fun." Ian burst out laughing as he removed the cartoon fox out from under his coat.

Sam's face had turned a very solid red. "Bleh," he spluttered as they rounded the corner. "Funny, I guess, but just wait until I-gah!"

A bright light erupted in front of the three as they turned onto the street housing the antique store. Ian winced and spun around to shield himself while Sam dove back under his coat. A whirring sound came from Zane's mechanical eyes as a set of filters shuttered into place to block the light. The Artist had visited this street as well. The buildings had all been converted into a brilliant stained glass. A very reflective stained glass. With the amount of sunlight the street was getting, looking at any of the buildings was like staring directly into a multicolour sun.

"Gah! What the hell did he do to the stores? It's like I'm gettin' mugged by a damn rainbow!"

"I'm suddenly very glad I can't feel pain," Zane said, looking through the filters in his eyes at the mirror-coated street, "because this looks painfully bright."

A yip of agreement came from beneath Ian's coat.

Zane tapped the jackal's hand with his tail. "I'll lead you in," he offered.

Much appreciated if ya would....just hope the shopkeep didn't get turned into an animated cash register or somethin'..."

With a small bit of difficulty - owing to the fox refusing to leave Ian's coat - Zane managed to guide them into the antique store. The interior of Reynard's store was thankfully dimly lit. The stained glass walls were translucent on the interior but not reflective. Apart from the building's structure, everything else seemed normally. The decorative vases and old figurines were just as they had been when the three had left earlier that day. It didn't seem as if the Artist had entered the building when he passed. Reynard looked up as the bell over the door rang.

"Halloween isn't for another two weeks, so I'd ask you to remove your costumes. Or don't, as long as you're careful. Now, what brings you in, gentlemen? I have many fine antiques for sale - and remember, if a friend referred you here and I know them, you get a discount."

"Seriously?" Sam yipped in confusion. "That's all you can say? How are you so calm? Haven't you seen what's going on out there?"

"I haven't been outside since I got in this morning. Why, is there a blizzard?"

Zane shook his head. "Well, if you leave before sunset, you're going to want a pair of sunglasses." He cleared his throat, unintentionally producing a reedy hum. "Anyway, we came in here to ask about a music box you sold earlier today. We were wondering if you know where it came from, or who might've owned it last?"

"That's an odd thing to say... and you are not the first to come asking about it. I sold it a few hours ago to some young men. As for the previous owner, I do not remember them well, nor am I aware of its origins. Why do you ask?"

"Ugh... Long story," the chimera groaned with a trill, rubbing his bronzed forehead. This was their only lead, and now they find out that Reynolds doesn't remember where the box came from? He stood in silent thought for a few moments, trying to think of some way to jog the man's memory, an effort that was impeded by both the ticking in his chest and the chiming of that damnable music box.

Wait a minute... I didn't bring the box. Zane looked up and realized with a start that the melody was being played by a collection of harp strings concealed within his wings. They had been triggered by his focusing on the music box.

Mr. Reynolds looked nostalgic for a moment, though he wasn't quite sure of where the music was coming from. "Oh... that song...that brings me back... I must've heard it twenty years ago. Yes, I remember now. A man not much older than myself wanted to sell the music box... seemed nervous. At first I feared it was stolen, but he didn't seem to mind when I suggested getting the police to check it out. All he'd say is that the box used to be his mother's."

"But we need to know, yip!" Sam exclaimed. "Isn't there anything you can tell us? Where he lived? Why he wanted to sell the box? Anything he might've told you would be a big help!"

"All I remember is he seemed eager to get rid of it, and parted with it for far less than I would have normally offered."

"Do you think you can try and find out where this man lived?" Zane asked, jotting down his phone number and first name on the pad and handing the slip to the shopkeeper. "Please, we really need to find out more about that box."
 
Mr. Reynolds read the slip. "Zane? You're that young man from before? Those costumes are quite realistic... is the one in the fox your little brother? But yes, I could dig up the transaction receipt - I do require a valid address for sales and purchases. When I find it, I'll give you a call." The man gave Sam a look, more wary of what he thought was a young kid potentially breaking something than suspicion before vanishing into the back.

"Huh, I guess you were right that people would think I'm a kid," Sam mused as the three stepped back outside; they faced the storefront to avoid being blinded again. "Neat."

"Well, you are kinda small ta; be someone our age, so I can see folks thinkin' you're a kid. Just hope he finds what he's lookin' for." Ian nodded, trying hard to not turn around and be blinded by the storefront.

"Same." The fox nodded. "But now we've got no leads. Not sure what else we can do."

"Nothin' we can do but wait. It's a pain in the ass, but just wanderin' around the city blind would be a bad id-eh? There's screamin' nearby!" The jackal's prominent ears twitched as he heard something off in the distance. His hand dipped to the empty holster as if on instinct.

"Wha? But I can't year-yip! Wait up!" Sam exclaimed as Ian took off. With Zane's help, he followed the sheriff down the street. Sam still had to keep his eyes averted to avoid the glare but Ian seemed to be finding his way without trouble, guided by whatever instinct had made him reach for his holster.

The cries were coming from a cafe. Ian charged through the door and knocked through it easily. The Artist had definitely been here. The normal tile floors and plush furniture had been completely replaced with mahogany. If they hadn't known what the building was supposed to be, the trio would've guessed it to be a well-detailed woodcarving.

The source of the screams was in the corner. Huddled against the back wall were more bystanders who had been added to the Artist's 'portfolio'. Two toons - a fennec in Aloha clothes and a jackal in red with a Gundam armband - were clutching each other in fear. Next to them was an empty set of clothes that was holding its knees and rocking back and forth. Flowing out of the floor next to the outfit was a carving of a woman who seemed to be an extension of the wooden interior. She was patting the disembodied jacked on the shoulder. All four of the victims were staring, terrified, at the creatures looming over them.

The first creature was completely gray and looked like a digital polygon. It had no distinct features or species, just a series of shapes held together in humanoid form. The second was a chalk drawing of a feral tiger, but animate and three-dimensional. Its dusty colors spilled over each other as it bared its teeth at the cornered civilians. The third was a sketch - a mass of hastily drawn lines in the form of a raven. The shape had no color other than the blue of the lines. Where there would've been flesh or feathers, there was instead empty space. All three creatures turned at Ian crashing into the building. Their expressions were mindless and feral.

"...What the...?" Ian had no idea how to respond to confronting what amounted to living sketches. Feral ones, no less, going by the looks on their faces. "Damn Artist... You three... get away from those folks!"

"And I thought what he did to us was weird..." Zane muttered as he stepped inside, warily eying the lunatic's half-finished works. He wasn't sure what these things could do, but he wasn't keen on finding out.

Sam brought up the rear, entering just after Zane. "Ok, seriously, my legs are way shorter than yours and-what the fox are those!?"

The polygon lunged and Sam dove out of the way just in time to avoid being crushed. The floor splintered on impact. The toon scrambled to get back up just in time to avoid another smash. A ! mark hung over his head as he fled underneath the tables to try and escape his pursuer.

Zane had been about to assist his toon friend when the avian sketch flapped across his path, wings spread wide. The golem swung, but his fist sailed ineffectually through the empty space between its outline as the birdman zipped higher into the air, squawking aggressively down at him.

As Ian moved to try and bail his friends out, the living chalk drawing pounced at him, cutting the jackal off from the mechanical chimera and toon fox. A surprisingly loud roar escaped the abomination's throat as it lunged again. A sharp kick from Ian missed, though it did deter the tiger.

"HELP!" Sam yelped as he continued to flee from the polygon. He leapt over chairs and dove under tables, but each time the gray behemoth smashed them to pieces. An unwise turn made him slip up and fall on his tail. He scrambled to get back up, but wasn't quite fast enough. Sam let out a small whimper and pressed his eyes shut as the polygon swung into him.

The force of the impact hurtled Sam into the wall. He hadn't been flattened, but rather squished up like a ball of dough. The fox - now distinctly rounder - bounced off the wall in a daze and rolled over to the corner where the civilians huddled. He'd lost focus, vision spinning both figuratively and literally thanks to his swirling eyes.

Zane's skirmish wasn't going much better. The sketch was constantly swooping in and out of reach, as if mocking the chimera. Every time he swung, the avian would dash back towards the ceiling with a defiant squawk. Suddenly, the bird dove straight at Zane, talons aimed for his eyes. On instinct, Zane rose his arms -and wings-up to block. The impact knocked him back only a few inches. Surprisingly, he heard no comment from his attacker; no irritated screech or frenzied flapping. He lowered his own defenses to see a scattered pile of black sticks on the mahogany floor, the only thing remaining of the sketch. "...Sheesh... am I really that solid?"

The toon fennec in the corner looked between the victorious golem on one side of the room and the rounded mound of fox on the other. A light bulb clicked on over his head. He dashed over to Sam, picked him up, and rolled him into a perfect sphere.

Sam gave a startled yip as he felt himself squished up into a full ball. "Who's doing that?"

"From one toon to another, Red," the fennec said, setting his sights on the monochrome polygon-man, "I have no idea what I'm doing."

With a wild spin of his arm and an enthusiastic cry of "Incoming!" the fennec threw Sam like a bowling ball into the pixilated portfolio piece. His comically large ears were quickly rewarded with the sound of a synthesized shatter. "Steeeeeeee-RIKE!" he hollered with a victorious fist-pump.

Sam burst out of ball-shape on impact, falling in a heap among the scattered pieces that used to make up the polygon.

A chuckle was heard from the red-shirted toon jackal, who simply stuck his tongue out at the defeated menace.

The tiger continued to lunge at Ian as the jackal using a chair to bat it away. He was at a loss as to how to defeat it - at least as far as tools went. Chalk never did hold up well to getting wet, but with nothing to use, he couldn't do much. The toon jackal had been watching Ian struggle the whole time, and he seemed to have just reached the same conclusion as his real-world brethren's plight.  A light bulb went up over the toon's head. "The things! Use the soda things!"

Ian glanced at the inked jackal, then at the café's service counter. "Please don't be wood..." he muttered. The next time the tiger lunged, Ian dove away behind the counter. He was in luck-the soda hose was still unchanged. Leaping up and with a grin, Ian began hosing the chalk tiger down. Five sprays were enough to soak the drawing into defeat.

The sheriff spun the nozzle in his hand and blew out its top as he looked down at the orange and black puddle. "I know what you're thinkin'... did he spray five times, or six? You gotta as yourself... am I feelin' lucky? Well, are ya?"
 
Sam shook his head to clear the swirls from his eyes. He got to his feet, rubbing his head. "Is... is it over?"

"Looks like it... our sketchy friends don't look like they're gonna get back up anytime soon... I'm just hopin' when things go back to normal, if they were anythin' real, we didn't just hurt someone."

Sam stepped gingerly around the polygon pieces. His ears fell. "Oh blast... does this mean we just killed them?"

Zane looked at the scattered and shattered remains of their foes and shuddered. "I don't want to think about it," he said, looking to the group in the corner. "You folks all right?"

The wooden girl nodded. The animate outfit made some gestures.

"She can't speak," the girl explained. "But she's thankful too."

The jackal nodded with a seemingly impossible speed, oblivious to the slight breeze his ears were making as a result. "Yea, we should be fine now! Thanks for the assist! This guy in a suit just came like gliding in and talking about taking a break and then he did this thing to the room and then he said the cashier would be good decoration and then June said something to make him mad so he vanished her into her clothes and then he started 'bringing out' me and Luke and then he wanted to practice so her made those things appear and the whole time I was just thinking what I wouldn't give for a robot!"

The jackal finally paused for breath and Sam took the opportunity to interject.

"How long ago did this happen? We're trying to track down the Artist."

"You guys too, then, huh?" the fennec remarked, stepping forward. "That oddball left about ten minutes before you got here. Don't suppose you know where he came from?"

Sam's ears wavered. "We're, erm, looking into that," he said, not technically lying. Looking to change the subject he added, "That was some quick thinking with the bowling. I didn't expect to run into a fellow toon, let alone two." He extended a gloved hand. "I'm Sam! But you can call me Spark."

"Thankya thankya!" the fennec grinned, accepting the fox's handshake. "I'm Luke. Nice ta meetcha, Sparky!"

"I'm George... or if you'd like, call me Banks!" The jackal grinned widely as he shook the other toon's hand. The Arche Gundam armband's eyes seeming to blink, as if in thanks.

"Well, it's good to know you're all-GAH!" Zane jumped, looking around as if startled by something. "...Okay, what was-Wa-HAH!" He jumped again, one hand flying to his ear.

A large question mark appeared over the heads of all three toons.

"What's with your friend? Circuits get crossed?" George asked.

Ian shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine..."

"Uh, hang on," Zane said, tapping his ear. "Incoming call... I think...Hello, this is Zane..."

Luke paused, thought about this, and chuckled. "Gives new meaning to a hands-free earpiece."

"New spokes-bot for Bluetooth, huh?" George chuckled loudly.

On the other end of the phone, Zane could hear the voice of Mr. Reynolds. "Zane? Mr. Reynolds - I managed to find that receipt you were looking for. It's an address on the north side of the town, but I drive by there on my way to work-the house has been abandoned for a few years now."
 
"I see..." Zane mused, his free ear drooping. "Listen, I really appreciate you doing this for me, sir. Could you give me the address?"

"469 Vinyard. I wish you luck, though I doubt you will find any answers there. By the way... you wouldn't happen to know what happened to the exterior of my shop? A customer stumbled in half-blinded after you three left."

"Like I said before, Mr. Reynolds, it's a long story," Zane sighed. "And trust me when I say you probably wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"You would be surprised, but I will let you go - I would try getting there before dark, as I suspect there are no lights on there." A clicking sound was heard as Zane was left with a dial tone in one ear.

The chimera tapped the spot on his ear that corresponded to his phone's Call End button and turned to his friends. "That box's owner lived in the old house at 469 Vinyard Street," he said. "The place has been abandoned for a couple of years, though, but we could still check it out."

Sam nodded. "Creepy house on a hill. Got it."

"Well, it's a lead we didn't have ten minutes ago, so I say we get goin' and check it out. How 'bout you folks? Y'all going to be okay here?" Ian nodded and looked at the four other transformees in the room.

The wooden girl looked down at her legs, or lack thereof. "I'll stay here with June," she indicated the moving clothes, "she's too scared to go home, and I don't think I can leave anyway."

Luke nodded. "I'll probably stick around here, too, at least for a while. Should be pretty quiet for a while, unless the Artist sends more folks our way."


George agreed. "I'm gonna stay here... strength in numbers and all that, and less chance I'll get squished or something."

"Eh, you'll get used to it," Sam shrugged with a grin. "This was my third time."

The toonified jackal whistled and chuckled. "Watch out for falling anvils and sticks of TNT, then!"

"Aheh..."

"C'mon, guys," Zane said, filters clicking back into place as he opened the front door. "Let's get moving before the Artist adds anyone else to his portfolio."

"Technically speaking, phoenixes are actually pretty flammable." --Donnie


Jonas

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Reply #3 on: September 06, 2012, 09:19:33 AM
Part 3 and Conclusion

===

More of the Artist's work was apparent as the trio made their way to the next destination. It seemed that the imp had given each street its own theme. Sam, Ian, and Zane skated through lanes of solid ice, padded across sidewalks composed of felt and plush fabric, and decided to take the long way around an intersection that looked to be made of gelatin.

There were also more victims of the Artist's 'portfolio'. Those who had been caught outside had been turned into accessories for whatever scene was being crafted. The three passed living street signs, writhing snakes whose scales ran like lava, and at least one person whose lower body had been turned into a motorcycle. The sight of these victims re-emphasized the importance of stopping the Artist.

It didn't escape the trio that this trail of 'art' was leading the same direction they needed to go. Their suspicions were confirmed when they arrived at the house - a manor, to be precise. The building had been tossed and turned inside and out - literally. The interior had become twisted and convoluted like an Escher portrait. From the landing they could see a living room inverted above them. Decaying drawers had been pulled out and worn cushions ripped apart in the Artist's frantic search. Why gravity wasn't bringing the debris down on their heads was a question best left unaddressed.

"Woah..." Spark whispered in amazement. He kept turning around trying to spot all the rooms that the toon was in danger of literally twisting himself up.

"Holy hell...that thing's just laughin' at the laws of physics."

"Crazy..." Zane agreed, looking up an upside-down chimney. "What do you think he was looking for?"

"Maybe the same thing we are? I don't think he found it though."

"This looks...angry. Don't look like he found what he was lookin' for...doubt the place'd look like this. Hell, for all we know, the original owner's dead."

Sam bounced anxiously. "Even so there must be something here! If the Artist was just looking for a person then he wouldn't have bothered tossing out drawers! There might still be something here!"

"Somethin'...but where? From the looks of the place, we could be lost in here for years!"

"Well, we won't find anything by just standing around," Zane said, looking around at the scrambled mess of the house. "There's got to be something here, something the Artist didn't notice..." A thought struck him, and he began studying the walls and floor of the house. "...Sort of like how Mr. Reynolds didn't notice the hidden compartment on that music box. Maybe there's a false wall around here someplace!"

"Well, you've got all kinds of gadgets in that body...anythin' that lets you see through walls?" Ian peered into the hell house curiously.

Sam leaned out over the edge, looking at the floors below them. He formed a pair of binoculars with his hands as he scanned. He passed over a kitchen, a bedroom, a library, and another kitchen without luck until...

"Yip! There!" He pointed across from the landing to the study. "That wall by the overturned desk! It's less faded than the others - just like the music box!"

The toon hopped back and with a running start leapt over the chasm. His vault would've been enough to carry him across, but gravity wasn't obeying normal rules in the twisted manor. Sam's arc slowed to a halt in the middle of the chasm. He blinked. He looked down. A large ! mark shot up as he plummeted. A panicked yip echoed through the manor as he vanished into the darkness. Then the yip returned as Sam re-emerged moments later, this time falling upwards. He landed splat against the living room on the ceiling.

"Sparky! You okay?" Zane asked. He paused, considered this, and shook his head. "What am I talking about-you're a cartoon. Of course you're okay."

"Thank god for toons not followin' the normal laws of the universe. But hang on! We'll get to ya!"

Sam's reply was muffled by his lack of a 3D mouth. After some effort, he peeled his flattened body off the floor and looked up and Zane and Ian. With a degree of difficulty he gave them a 2Dish thumbs-up before gesturing towards the door to his left, and then to the study below.

Ian took a few moments-being 2D probably made speaking difficult, but Spark had gotten off lightly given that the impact probably would've killed him and damaged Zane severely. "Think he's tellin' us to meet him there..."

"Sounds like as good a plan as any," the mechanical chimera chimed. "Just hang in there, Sam; we'll be over in no time!"

The flat fox swayed more than nodded. He'd been able to stand, but the impact had taken a lot out of him. After some struggling, he managed to stay balanced enough to walk over to the door. With his body currently mimicking the dimensions of a piece of cardboard, it was like trying to walk on the very tips of his toes. Still, with each moment more feeling returned as Sam's body slowly expanded back to normal. When enough strength returned to his hands, he opened the door. The staircase was upside down and leading up and behind the living room.

"'his 'ight 'e 'rickier 'han I 'ought..." Sam said to himself with a partially-squashed muzzle as he began climbing the bizarre steps.

It was a sign of how much Sam had gotten used to being a cartoon character that finding himself walking on the ceiling was more disorienting than being flattened or squished into a ball. He was in a bathroom now, one that had seen every fixture ripped up as part of the Artist's mad search. The fox shook his head in disbelief when he saw that the showerhead had been disassembled.

Sam cast about for a way to gauge his distance from the study and spotted Ian and Zane making their way along one of the walls on the other side of the chasm. Or maybe it was an inverted ceiling. It was hard to tell from this angle.

"Hey!" he hollered across once his muzzle had restored itself, "Which direction is the study from here?"

"Down and to the left," Zane hollered back.

"We'll catch up with ya soon! Just stay safe!"

"I'll be fine! Just stay clear and-yip!" Sam had stumbled and began falling down the next staircase - or up, rather, as that's how it appeared to the sheriff and golem watching. He tumbled out of their line of sight, but a distinct "I'm ok!" was called out after a minute.

Zane chuckled, starting into the next room. It looked like this part of the house might've been the kitchen, if the fact that the room looked like the inside of a fridge was any clue. Although Zane couldn't feel it, the refrigeration elements were running at full blast, making the room distinctly colder than the rest of the house. The golem walked over to an inverted freezer door and opened it. The room outside was barren and massive, confirming his suspicion that the kitchen's furniture had been crammed inside the appliance.

"Guy's gotta be invincible now that he's a toon, eh? C-c'mon....let's get outta here before we freeze..."

"Before you freeze, anyway," Zane corrected, closing the inverted fridge. "But yea, this place is making my head spin."

"Right, right...c'mon...looks like there's a room through that big-ass cereal box over there." True to his words, what looked like a king-sized box of Cheerios was on its side and open. Instead of the expected truck tire-sized pieces of cereal, the box contained a small passage to a room filled with bookshelves.

As they stepped into the study, one of the bookshelves spun around and ejected a very disheveled Sam into the middle of the room.

"Oof..." The fox groaned as he rubbed his backside. He looked up. "Oh, hey guys! Good timing!"

"This is turnin' into a regular episode of X-Files with all this crazy stuff, ain't it? But seems like we're all here."

Sam grimed and bounced onto his paws. "Hah, maybe when this is over we can sell the story to Hollywood. Like to see some CGI character try to play me." He padded over to the wall and pressed his ear up against it as he began knocking. He paused and tried knocking in a spot slightly to the left, then to the right.

"Odd," he said as he turned to the others. "Definitely something back there. I'm getting faint noises when I tap different parts of the panel. They sound like musical chimes."

"Music, huh?" Zane looked at his wings, willing them to start playing the tune from the music box. "Think you can play this on the wall, Sparky?"

"Oh, good idea!" Sam's ears twitched in time with the music as he tapped it into the panel.

"Any of you guys need me on the drums, ya just let me know, kay?" The jackal sheriff just nodded and leaned back against a wall.

The panel shifted and slid aside once Sam finished the melody. It exposed a small compartment with a bound leather book. Sam picked it up and flipped through it, curiously. "It's a diary, I think."

He flipped to the last few entries and began reading.

December 4th, 1984

Still no luck. What am I doing wrong? People used to love my work! I couldn't paint fast enough to keep up with demand! But now it's as if no one cares anymore. My style just isn't good enough for 'modern tastes'. Pah! I'm sure that with the right inspiration, I can bring them all back to me.

December 6th, 1984

Found something odd in one of my mentor's old books. Something about a 'Dreaming', some fairy world, and an 'Artist' - that's this person he keeps referring to - who showed him... something. It's hard to read what he writes about it, but I think it says that the Artist is what inspired his designs. Ol' Garrick is the reason I took up the brush in the first place. If he really got inspiration from another world...

"So, this guy...summoned the Artist because he was losin' fame? Shoulda figured it'd be for some reason like this."

Zane leaned closer. "Keep reading, Sam. This may be what we've been looking for..."

December 7th, 1984

Holy crap it was right! I thought I was just being desperate but Garrick was right! The spell or ritual or whatever it was in those books did something - they opened this ripple in the air that spoke to me! It was the Artist - I had to tell him Garrick was dead, but he didn't seem to care. All he wanted was to ensure that my mentor's work - which was based on the Artist's own style - continued to thrive on Earth.

June 12th, 1985

Hah! I'm back! With the Artist guiding me, I've never been more popular! The one downside, as far as there could be one, is that I always get a fit of the giggles when someone compliments the 'other-worldly' feel of my paintings. If they only knew! My star is rising again, but my only concern is that the Artist seems to be getting bored of me. I'll have to think of something to offer him in order to keep getting these lessons.

July 20th, 1985

I've made a terrible mistake. In exchange for more lessons the Artist showed me how to summon him fully onto Earth. It was great at first - I've never learned so much- but now... as he gets more acclimated to the world he's started testing his powers. The Artist is... doing things. Impossible, terrifying things. I've managed to keep it under wraps for now but once he gets his full strength... I'll be getting more of Garrick's things from his sister tomorrow. Maybe there's some clue in there I can use.

July 30th, 1985

It's done. I had to sacrifice my mother's music box, but it was done. There was this design in one of Garrick's books, I had to carve it into the box and then make the Artist accept it. Apparently it's important that the object is taken willingly - some sort of 'symbolic sublimation' according to the book. Once he had the music box I just had to say his name and poof, he was sucked in.

God... his rage when he realized what I did... I felt it clawing at my mind. It was everything I could do to keep my sanity from his claws. But he took his knowledge with him. All of it. Every design, every sense of style, I can't remember any of it! And my notes are completely blank! I've still got some money left over but I'll be ruined soon. I need to gather what I can and leave. Just leave all this behind and get far, far away.

Sam looked up at the others. "And that's all there is. It looks like he practiced drawing the symbol on some of these back pages. We can replicate it using the final versions."

Ian nodded, though the jackal's expression seemed pensive. "Well, now we know how ta get rid of him, but how the hell are we gonna get him to fall for the same trick again?"

The three stood there, pondering the question. The Artist was insane, but not stupid. Unless they had a good plan, they wouldn't be able to trap him. The situation seemed hopelessly muddled until...

"I got it!"


Finding the Artist was not as hard as the three had anticipated. The ground rumbled as they stepped outside and a large pixilated tree rose up from the direction of the town hall. As they grew nearer, they realized that the tree was not made of pixels, but organic cubes. The blocky trunk was jutting out of city hall's large fountain, in front of which the Artist stood beaming with pride. He turned around as they approached.

"Ah! My originals! How delightful to see you! I trust you've enjoyed seeing my work? You should! These pieces are your bothers!  Your nieces! Your aunts twice removed!  This world will become a delightful beauty for you all to romp around in! Like chinchillas!"

Ian nodded, pointing to a building directly behind the fountain. "True, lookin' forward to it. Think you missed a spot though. That building over there looks a little bit borin'. It's just...grey."

The Artist made a face. "Ugh, don't even remind me! Everything here is gray or brown and dull! What happened to making things BRIGHT!? Honestly, you can't go wrong with some magenta sprayed on every now and then. I should write that down. Will come in handy when I start making clothes for everyone."

"Why not make it...I dunno...a neon green spiral or somethin'? Seems cheery and loud to me."

The fae raised an eyebrow. "That's.... FANTASTIC! Oh just imagine the green! And the spinning! Especially the spinning! Yes, of course! Wonderful! Fantastically fantastique!"

He dove forwards and gave Ian a huge bear hug before skipping around the tree to his newest target.
Once the Artist had gone to go manipulate the building, Ian nodded towards Sam. He hated needing to use a building as bait like this, but their plan hinged on the crazed creature being distracted.

The toon gave a salute as he accepted the order and scampered off. The Artist had set his bag down and was in the process of using his voodoo clay to twist the building into a spiral. It had already begun resembling a conch shell by the time Sam crept within range. Not only was Sam's inked body the lightest of the three, his paws were muffled by their fur and pads as he advanced. He sloooowly reached out a hand, grasped the bag by the handle, and ever so carefully lifted it away from the sculpting fae. Sam zipped back to Zane and Ian.

"Got it." He breathed after a huge sigh of relief. He tossed the bag to Zane. "All yours."

Zane caught the bag. With a whirr and a series of clicks, his chest plate opened up and the golem hid the Artist's supplies in the gap between his clockwork innards before reclosing the hatch.

The three waited patiently for the Artist to finish twisting the building with his clay. They knew he had finished when a very loud profanity echoed through the plaza. They rushed over.

"Is something wrong?" Sam asked innocently.

"My bag! I've misplaced my bag! All my supplies and tools and snacks were in there! I can't replace them - well, the snacks I can, but not everything else! Ugh and if I stop to look for it now I'll lose my momentum and this building will never reach its full potential!"

Ian reached into the duster's pockets and grinned as he removed something from it. "Just so happens, I got this paintbrush on me. Dunno how much help it'll be, buuuut..."

"Don't be daft, lad - of course it'll help!" The Artist spun around and reached for the brush but froze when he saw the pattern that had been carved into its handle. "Th-that... y-y-you found his... ARGH! You stole my bag! You filthy little fetchers, give it back this instant!"

A ? mark popped over Sam's head as he turned out of the pockets of his shorts. "No bag here, what do you think he's talking about, guys?"

"I didn't see a bag 'round here. Zane? You see one?"

"No idea," Zane said with a shrug. "Maybe this is karma, getting back at you for turning our town on its head."

The Artist's face turned red with anger. Then blue. Then purple. Then some other colour the three had never seen before. His eyes kept flickering back to the spiraled building.

"Can't lose your momentum..." Sam chimed in a sing-song voice, grinning.   

"Just a wee paint job..." the Artist muttered, more to himself than the three. After several moments of quiet deliberation, the fae snatched the brush from Ian's hand and began waving it furiously at the building. Splashes of bright neon green appeared in line with his erratic movements.

"Hah!" Sam grinned even wider. "Couldn't resist! Welp, back in the box you go, Ar-"

Ian clamped the toon's mouth shut. Another option just occurred to him. "Now, that's one option...but...somethin' tells me you don't wanna be sealed, right? We don't want you here on Earth...so how 'bout this. We don't seal ya up, and you go back to this...Dreaming place of yers after turnin' things back to normal?"

The Artist spun around, stricken. "Give up my art? Sacrifice what beauty I've created? Never! I'd rather be locked up again in that...dark...empty...erg.... bah it's like having to choose a favourite child! Or ice cream flavor! Or plaid over polka! It just can't be done! B-but..." he slumped over, defeated. "Fine. I'll go. And I'll take my magic with me. That'll..." he shuddered as he forced the word out, "...undo almost everything."

"Almost?"

The Artist glared. "Most of my work is fueled by my power. You three, and two others I added to my portfolio from a cafe, all I did was bring out what was inside. Like turning your skins inside-out or making your chests transparent. I may have added some artistic touches, but taking away my magic won't change you back."

Ian blinked. "So you're sayin'...we're stuck? Well...that's kinda discouragin'...but all things considered, this could be worse..."

Sam looked down and fiddled with his hands, suddenly very aware of their lack of bones or other internal structure. His tail curled around from behind. "Yip... I'd be a cartoon for the rest of my life?"

"And I'm stuck as a walking musical instrument?"

"You asked. I answered. Now can I go or not?"

Ian nodded. "We had a deal, and I honor my deals. Yes. You may go,"

The air began to shimmer and ripple. The Artist's body began to waver and flicker. He shot the group a final, vicious look before winking out of the world, returning to whatever kind of realm the Dreaming was. Small streaks of light began streaming into the spot where the Artist had left. Each line, the remaining bits of the Artists magic, peeled off of the buildings and people the Artist had changed across the city and pooled into the crevice. When they had all been gathered up, the ripple shuddered before blinking into nothingness.

The fountain bubbled and flowed once again. The buildings were rectangular and gray and brown. The jackal sheriff, cartoon fox, and chimera golem were the only signs that the Artist had ever been there.

 "Well...back to normal. Or as normal as we'll ever get, lookin' like this." The jackal sighed heavily as he looked around them, feeling self-conscious.

Zane nodded in agreement. "At least we don't have to deal with the Artist anymore."

Sam bounced onto Zane's tail and scrambled onto his wings. "Yea! We got no crazy fae to deal with! Let's worry about the details later and CELEBRATE! Who wants to get burgers?"

"Technically speaking, phoenixes are actually pretty flammable." --Donnie


Shadow99611

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Reply #4 on: September 06, 2012, 12:34:13 PM
Great story! Really cleverly written and described! I love the interaction between the toon characters, Sam and the Fen.

Sanity is for the weak.


Tvorsk

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Reply #5 on: September 06, 2012, 01:52:22 PM
Very amusing and enjoyable read. {:)

Also... was I the only one who was wondering whether our heroes will stay TFed at the end of the story since just about they got TFed in the first place? {;)

Thanks for reading,
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Virmir

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Reply #6 on: September 11, 2012, 07:57:59 PM
Great story! Particularly loved the transformation sequences and the buildup at the end of part 1. The ending seemed slightly convenient, but it works and is a fun story altogether. Really enjoyed this one. [:)

[fox] Virmir


LurkingWolf

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Reply #7 on: September 12, 2012, 08:12:18 PM
I like it!  Very creative and descriptive throughout.