Slackbot's text sketchbook

Slackbot

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Little scenes often play out in my mind when I'm working on character development, or toying with ideas for a fic, or just mentally messin' around. Many of them end up in stories, but some only exist as vignettes. As I don't consider these full stories, I don't want to start a thread for each one, so here's a thread in which I'll post these bits and pieces, just as I post my artwork into the Slackbot Draws Stuff thread.

The first one is a bit of business between Mokey and Boober that might happpen sometime after Red Versus Blue. I claim not to be a Mokey/Boober 'shipper, but it seems the evidence speaks for itself. Eesh.

*****

Treading Water
by Kim McFarland

*****

It was a quiet day in the caves below Fraggle Rock. Fraggles did not normally come down this far, as the rough, rocky terrain wasn't suitable for their typical high-energy activity. Very little of the ground was flat, and in places it seemed to be made up entirely of stalagmites, columns, gours, flowstone, popcorn, and other tricky shapes. It also had a clear, fresh pond that, while small, was deep.

Mokey and Boober were alone in the cave. Mokey had found a particularly interesting formation that rose out of the pond, and set up her easel. She had been coming down here since Gobo had discovered it and described it to her, thinking she would be interested in the novel formations. He had been right; she found inspiration in a new bit of flowstone or unusual plant every day, and her room had been filling up with paintings of this cave. She would, in time, display them in the Great Hall for all to see, but not until she had completed her series of paintings. If she showed them too early, other Fraggles might want to come down here, and while she knew that its beauty must be shared, she wanted to have it to herself for just a little while.

Boober was so quiet, she hardly remembered he was there. He had asked to come with her, and, surprised and pleased, she had welcomed him along. He did not want to paint, though. He was content to watch her paint, and to read silently from her notebook of poetry.

Boober was a taciturn Fraggle who did not run around and play and swim. Feeling that he was missing out on life, Gobo, Red, and even Wembley often tried to pull him into their games. Only Mokey seemed to accept that he enjoyed different things. Peaceful, quiet, safe things. Of course she would understand; she liked painting rocks and writing pages and pages of free verse likening death to the migration of birds. When he thought about it, that did sound a little strange. But when he watched her paint, utterly absorbed in creating an image of a rock or a flower and humming happily under her breath, or when he read her poetry and let himself feel what she had felt when she wrote it, he thought he understood.

**

Mokey put down her paintbrush. Her fingers were slightly cramped from holding it for so long. She flexed them and glanced over at Boober, who was still reading. Flattered that he devoted such attention to her poetry, he decided not to interrupt him to show him her painting. It would still be there when he finished.

She capped her paint jars, rinsed the brushes out, and set them to dry. Then she climbed over some mounds of stone to the edge of the pond and jumped in.

Boober looked up when he heard the splash. The reflections from the water's surface sent ripples of light dancing across the cave walls and ceiling. Boober put the notebook down and followed her.

She was relaxing and treading water. The pond was small enough that she could not have swum more than a few strokes in any direction. He sat at the edge, dangling his feet into the water. It was pleasantly cool. Mokey smiled up at him, then ducked under the surface. Several rockbeetles later she came back up, her hair now soaked and plastered to her head. Boober was still watching her, oddly intent. "What're you thinking about?" she asked.

"The water looks so nice. It must feel good to swim here."

"It does," she replied, treading water.

She didn't suggest he come in. He never swam. The others often tried to coax him in when he sat at the edge of the swimming hole in the Great Hall, which is why he never did anymore. Only Mokey simply accepted that he didn't swim and left it at that. Because of that, he gathered his nerve and said, "I wish I could."

"Why can't you?" she asked.

She held out an arm, and he leaned back slightly, as if afraid of her touch. "I'm scared of... of having water all around me. Once, when I was little, I, I fell through some ice and nearly drowned."

"I didn't know," she said softly.

"You're the only person I've told."

"Boober... do you want to try again?"

He shuddered. "Water all around me...I can't."

"I'd keep you safe." She raised her hand to him again. He flinched, but did not back away. He did want to try. He remembered what it was like to swim without fear, and he wanted that again. Maybe... "You won't tell anyone?"

"I won't tell anyone."

He took her hand and slid into the water. His heart began hammering, and Mokey felt his hand squeeze hers hard. She wrapped her arms around him and held him to herself, softly saying, "I'll keep you safe."

Boober whimpered. When the water enclosed his body he remembered with sudden, shocking clarity the sensation of sinking down in winter-cold water, weighed down by thick clothes. He felt as though only Mokey's arms kept him from falling like a pebble.

Poor Boober, she thought as she stroked his hair comfortingly with wet fingers. He was rigid with terror. She could feel his heart pounding against her chest.

He was barely suppressing panic. The one thing that made him feel less afraid was Mokey. If water was danger, she was safety and comfort. He'd be all right with her there. He told himself that over and over. The panic receded to the point that he could force his body to unstiffen.

Mokey asked, "Do you want to get out?"

After a long pause he replied, "Not yet..."

"All right."

"Mokey?"


"Yes?"

"Don't let go."

"I won't."

He focused on her, the solidity of her body, the gentle strength in her arms. She moved slowly, kicking her legs rhythmically to tread water while holding him up. He could do that, but as nervous and awkward as he felt, he was afraid he'd kick her.

**

After a while Boober said, "I'd like to get out now."

Mokey swam over to the edge of the pond. When Boober felt the stone at the edge touch his arm he let go of her and hauled himself out of the pool. She came out after him. Neither made any effort to shake the water out of their fur or wring out their clothes; when it was warm Fraggles were as comfortable wet as dry, and Fraggle clothes were made to be swum in. She went back to her painting and looked at it critically. It was an image of white, fluted flowstone descending in graceful curves, like folds of heavy fabric, into the pond. The water glimmered, fresh and inviting.

"I like it," Boober told her.

"Thank you. I'd like you to have it." She smiled warmly.

At a loss, he said, "I... thanks."

She smiled as she took it off the easel and handed it to Boober. He held it carefully by the edges so his damp hands wouldn't harm the paint.

She gathered up her materials and folded her easel. She told Boober, "I hope we can come back here again."

"I do too," he replied.

As they walked back, Boober thought, he'd remember today with or without the painting. The water hadn't closed over him, hadn't swallowed him in its depths the way he had feared for so long. It would take much more than one day like this to get him used to being in water deep enough to swim in. But maybe, he realized, it might be possible after all.

*****

Fraggle Rock and all characters are copyright © The Jim Henson Company. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. The overall story is copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9@aol.com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.
 

Slackbot

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Thanks, Count. Glad you liked it. I've had a frustrating case of writer's block lately. I've got another Muppet Theater story idea I want to start writing, but it just hasn't jelled yet. Sometimes little things like this can loosen me up, so maybe I can get my act together for a real story.
 

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I've given in? To what? Should I be alarmed? Will I get cookies?

Thank you. I'm glad you liked this. It was fun to write, believe me. Fraggles just seem to lend themselves to warm, fuzzy stories. I'm now working on another bit featuring Boober and... well, someone else. :excited:
 

Slackbot

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Here's a scene that took place soon before A Wandering Heart. I had a lot in mind for Red, but, well, it didn't fit into the story.

*****

Happy Birthday
by Kim McFarland

*****

Red was awake, and she hurt.

She was lying on her back in her bed on the floor. It was not as comfortable as her hammock, but she hadn't slept up there for so long she had taken it down.

She hurt, and her mind felt fuzzy. She had the feeling that she'd been drugged. She tried to sit up, and whimpered with pain.

A hand touched her cheek. "How do you feel?" Boober's voice said softly.

She tried to look around. Where was he? Oh. She realized that he was sitting behind her, sort of, and her head was in his lap. She mumbled, "My everything hurts."

"I'm not surprised," he replied gently.

"Where's my baby? Is she all right?" Red asked anxiously.

"She's fine," Boober said in the same calm tone. He stroked her hair—which was down; her pigtails had come loose long ago—and repeated, "She's fine and healthy. Gobo's taking care of her now. With a little help from Wembley, Mokey, and the kids."

"I want her."

"He'll bring her back soon enough. He can't feed her, after all."

She giggled at the thought of him trying. Then she said, "I thought I was gonna die. It wasn't this bad for Mokey."

It was a few moments before Boober spoke. Still stroking her hair, he told her, "You had a much harder time than Mokey. Things got... complicated."

"What happened? All I remember is Weft came over, and Wembley and the kids went away."

Boober closed his eyes. Red had been practically out of her mind by that time. Boober had sent Wembley to go get Weft, Fraggle Rock's midwife, and take Sage and Janken with him, and not come back. The baby had been in the wrong position to be born, and Boober had not known what to do, but whatever happened next, he didn't want the kids to see it.

Weft had trained him, and he could handle a normal birth. Despite his squeamishness, there was such joy it the beginning of a new life, he wanted to be a part of it, plus he had a wider range of medical knowledge than Weft did. But Weft knew how to handle birthing emergencies, and this had been one. She had turned the baby—Boober had forced himself to watch; one day he might have to do that too—and coached Red through the rest of a breech delivery. Boober had been terrified that they were going to lose Red or her child. But the baby was strong and healthy, and now he was going to watch over Red until she recovered.

Right now Red didn't need all the details, however. She'd been through too much, and the threadroot he had given her before the stitches would keep her groggy for some time. He said, "You know how babies usually dive into the world?"

"Yeah?"

"Yours did a backflop."

Red laughed, then winced. "That's why it hurts so much, huh?"

"Yeah. I'm afraid rock hockey season is over for you."

"Hah." Rock hockey season hadn't even begun for Red; by the time the greaseberry leaves were ready to pick, she had been too round and clumsy. She looked at her stomach and said, "Am I done? It looks like there's another in there."

"That's normal," he replied.

"She cried when she was born. She cried," Red said, and choked.

When a Fraggle baby was born, someone would tickle the soles of its feet, making it laugh. That was the right way to begin a life; with a happy sound. But after all that baby had been through, Boober had been relieved to hear her make any sound at all. At that moment, her angry wail had been the most beautiful sound in the world. "After all she went through, do you blame her?"

"No, I guess not."

They were quiet for a little while. Then she said, "I feel broken inside."

"I'll get something for the pain. But you have to promise to stay still. You have a lot of healing to do."

"It's a deal." If she moved her lower half, she hurt. She was going to stay as still as she could.

He lifted her head and slid his legs out from under her head, then replaced them with a pillow. "I'll be right back."

"Okay."

He scurried off. She must really be wrecked up, she thought, for Boober to hover over her like this. For once she wouldn't object. She felt awful. She wanted to be cared for.

It wasn't fair, she thought. She was strong. She was the strongest Fraggle in the Rock! If just anyone could have a baby—well, any female Fraggle—then it should have been a breeze for her. Her body had let her down at the worst possible time.

**

"Red?"

"Gobo?" she looked over.

"How are you? Boober said to come see you."

He had a small bundle in his arms. Red said, "Oh! Bring her here!"

Gobo did. Red held out her hands more eagerly, Gobo thought, than she had ever reached for a trophy. She gathered the tiny brown-and-yellow Fraggle, half hidden by a diaper, to her chest. Blindly, because baby Fraggles' eyes don't open until a few weeks after birth, she pressed her face into Red's fur, breathing in her mother's scent.

Red melted. For the moment her pain was forgotten. She had a little girl. She was a mother. She slipped a finger under one of its tiny feet and stroked its sole. The baby squirmed, then laughed in a squeaky, high-pitched voice.

"Happy birthday, kiddo," Red whispered.

*****

Fraggle Rock and all characters are copyright © The Jim Henson Company. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. The overall story is copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9@aol.com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.
 

The Count

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:cry: over the quiet beautifulness of how :excited: was portrayed here. In my recollections, it ranks right next to the sort of "broken" Red from when the caves flooded in the earlier chapters of ReneeLouvier's The Prediciment.
Hmm, maybe next time I see her online I'll ask about correcting it to "Predicament". *Shrugs. Again, thanks for a rully nice one-shot.
 

Slackbot

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Aw, thanks, guys. I'm glad you liked this. They're fun to write, especially since I get to show bits that just didn't fit into the main stories otherwise.

WhiteRabbit, thanks, I take your comments as high compliments! But I don't think I'm entirely innocent of those fanfic crimes. Just look at that Mary Sue over there on the left. But I'm keeping him on a short leash from now on! :wink:
 

Slackbot

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Aw, gawrsh, thanks! I've read enough fanfics of varying qualities, and I've seen a lot of Mary Sues, so when I create an OC I do my best to avoid that syndrome. Plus, well, Mary Sues really aren't that interesting to me. They kind of suck the air out of the room, y'know? I'd much rather use characters with vivid personalities and good chemistry. I was hesitant to write "A Wandering Heart" 'cause it's dangerous to center a fanfic around an OC, and the result could've been better, but then it could've been worse too. :wink:

I love constructive criticism! It can sting at first, but it is so valuable for improvement, plus I take it as a compliment when someone takes the time to give me well-thought-out feedback. My best critic read a draft of my book, "A Refugee in Oz" (link in my sig!), and told me that the first chapter was a needless timewaster, that this thread was contrived and needed better motivation, et cetera. He and I nearly came to blows over the use of the Magic Belt, but he made very good points and the book was definitely stronger after I'd edited it to fix the weaknesses he pointed out.

You've done RHPS? Cool. I'm a veteran Frank. Been doing it since 1988. I even dedicated a section of my website to it, but the photos are old. Here's a picture from Dragon*Con last month.
 
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