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anachronism-ahitzine · 1 month

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Yellow Bundles of (Pain) Joy

The first of the two fics that I submitted to @anachronism-ahitzine Please check out the other writers and artists.

It was seriously the last thing he needed right now, a brain-splitting headache that spread from the back all the way to the front of his cranium. It had been some time since he had to deal with such an annoyance, if the yellow bird's anger was high before, it was now on par with the force of a raging volcano, ready to erupt at any moment. At this rate his movie would never be finished in time.

His right ear-like feathers twitched before Conductor stood up from his director's chair, yelling 'cut' as he stormed over to the frantic Express Owl whose face was contorted in a mix of pain and panic, as he tried to free the tip of his wing from the jagged beak of a fluffy troublemaker. After the young bird realized that her grandfather was coming toward her, the little owlet let go, leaving a big bruise on the wing of the brown bird that handed the girl back to his boss with urgency.

The relief of the Express Owl was cut short when the Conductor glared and made a noise akin to a low growl “Cannae even take care o' a wee one. I'm surrounded by incompetent buffoons!” Even if the owls were already used to the temper and rage of their very irritable boss, it still caused them to shiver and scurry away in fear. His granddaughter buried her face in his chest, as the Conductor carried her back to the playpen that was kept in a room away from the set to avoid exactly the scenario that had just occurred. Why...Why did he have to watch over the little blighters now of all times? It was only a few more months until his movie had to be finished and that meant that he could hardly spare a minute, let alone days to watch over his grandkids!

When he got close to the door of the room the little owlets were kept in, he felt his anger flare up yet again, as he could already hear that something was wrong. He hoped that the commotion was only caused by the disappearance of his granddaughter that he was returning, but of course, luck wasn't on his side today. The moment he opened the door, his gaze immediately fell on an empty playpen. The owl that he snapped his head toward, looked like he wanted to be anywhere else just not right where he was. “Ye better tell me that ye took the wee ones out fer a stroll, laddie.”

Rather than deal with the apparent rage that the owl could not only see, but feel coming off the director like an oppressive, malicious aura, the other bird quickly stormed past him. “I have no idea how they got out!”, the fleeing bird informed as he sprinted down the hall faster than the Conductor had ever seen an Express Owl run...If only they could run this fast in his movies, maybe then they'd not get singed in explosions all the time.

The young owl in his arms started to twist and turn as if uncomfortable, which made the yellow bird realize that he was holding onto her too tightly in his angry state. “I'm sorry, lassie. I didn't mean ta scare ye.” He felt horrible, he had scared his granddaughter so much that she wanted to get away from him. The girl chirped happily when he cradled her in his arms and pet over her head...He could only hope that no one saw that. “Alright, let's go look fer yer siblings.”

He found the first one of the little troublemakers on the top of the huge barn on his set, just walking on the roof tiles with unsteady steps. Before the true gravity of the situation sunk in and he sprinted off to get the young owl, he briefly wondered how his grandson had even gotten up there in the first place, given that he could hardly walk without falling over backwards. The old bird nearly slipped off the roof himself as a loose tile shifted under him. The things he did to keep them safe...Breaking a bone would still have been less problematic than facing the ire of his beloved daughter though, of that he was certain.

“Ye cannae simply run away like that, laddie, ye worried yer grandpa sick.” He picked up the young boy whose feathers lowered as his grandfather lightly scolded him. Getting down with the fragile baby bird proved rather difficult, but thankfully his incompetent owls used their brains for once and brought over a ladder for him to descend safely.

The yellow bird only had time to thank his subordinates briefly as movement and yellow plumage caught his attention down the hallway, heading to his other set. He shoved his grandson into the arms of the Express Owl closest to him, the disapproval of this action was visible on both, as the brown owl stretched his wings out to keep the toddler as far away from him as possible, while the fluffy baby watched his family member leave while lightly sobbing. The director nearly recoiled when he noticed the state of his normally neatly organized dressing room which now looked like a hurricane had torn through it. All the costumes were mixed together on various piles instead of hanging from the clothes hangers that they had originally been placed upon. “Holy peck!” The Conductor balled his talons to fists, his sharp claws nearly digging into his palm as his eyes scanned the room for the little perpetrator that he found with ease, as a pile of clothes in the back moved and gave away the position of his second granddaughter. The little bird was revealed after he tossed neck scarfs, vest, and purposefully ripped and dirtied trousers behind him. Not noticing his presence yet, the young girl continued to put a ruby necklace on that was intended for a wealthy side character in his upcoming movie. She protested and chirped when he pulled the accessory off and carried her out of the room with a scowl on his face.

“Stay in here, ye got that? I know ye want ta play, but I got a movie to record, I ain't got the time right now.” He informed the three young birds that he had found so far, after placing them back in the playpen.

He was about to head back outside the make-shift kids room, when he noticed a couple of Moon Penguins brusquely walking down the hallway, holding one of his grandsons. The way they held him didn't sit right with neither the owlet nor his disgruntled grandfather as they held the young boy by the scruff on his neck like they were taking out the trash, rather than carry an infant. “Don't leave your little terrors on our side of the studio, a'ight. We're not a daycare!” The penguin that was holding the unhappy toddler, dumped said owlet into his arms and dusted off their flippers. The Conductor would have snapped at them if wasn't for the fact that he needed to calm down his grandson first, who appeared glad that he was reunited with him.

“It's true that ye ain't daycare workers, yer a bunch o' talentless clowns who ain't got no idea how to handle a young owl.” The two birds that had started to walk back, turned around once more, their annoyance shifting to spite. Dealing with their leader's arch nemesis was trying their patience enough already, getting insulted over a problem that the yellow- feathered director had caused himself, only angered them more.

“Hey! We wouldn't even have to come over here if YOU had these mini terrors under control! This one nearly ruined the electricity on our set by playing with the cables!”

The Western director contemplated whether he should scold or praise his grandson for doing that, on one hand, he got himself in danger, on the other, he was sabotaging the set of his rival. Instead of admitting to failed supervision, he smirked at the angered penguin. “As if he could ruin that set, it's already held together with duct tape and glue. I wouldnae even call it a set, more like shabby dump!” The self-satisfied bird watched as the more agitated one of the two Moon Penguins gritted his beak and was pulled back by his slightly more calm coworker. It appeared that the more sensible one of the two tried to deescalate the situation by getting his enraged friend away from the director.

Now he had four of his five grandkids back together, he was only missing one, the one that he secretly liked the most...even if picking favorites was a bit of an awful thing to do. His favorite grandson was nowhere to be seen though, not on his sets, nor in the hallway or even the lobby. The Conductor was cursing under his breath when he reluctantly entered the one area that he hadn't looked yet, his rival's side of the studio. Given that the Moon Penguins had brought back one of the little blighters, it wasn't far-fetched to assume that the young boy was over there as well. He ignored the stares and the confusion on the penguins, that seemed to stop dead in their tracks and ceased what they were doing the moment they spotted the Western director just barge in and walk through the sets and down the hallway. When one brave penguin decided to try and stop the yellow owl, he was met with a death-glare and a low growl, which caused the poor bird to step back.

After reaching the end of the hallway, completely unopposed, the Conductor could hear the happy chirps of his missing grandson...and when he opened the door, he was greeted by a sight that he would never have expected. His grandson was smiling widely and made happy chirps and giggles while being lightly thrown into the air and when caught again by none other than his rival. “Come on, darling, up you go again.” The disco-loving bird tossed the boy, who flapped his tiny wings up and down, as if trying to catch the wind to fly, while seemingly having a lot of fun. Fun was the last thing that his grandpa had, however, as he stomped his way into the room.

“What do ye think yer doin' ta me grandson?!” The DJ seemed to not have heard him enter, being so focused on the baby bird, he gasped and visibly flinched while catching the boy again.

“I'm playing with him, darling, something you clearly neglected to do.” The way the young bird snuggled into the exposed feathers on his rival's chest made his blood boil even more, and caused the Conductor to reach out and grab his grandson, pulling him away from the tall penguin. Unsurprisingly, the tiny bird began to cry.

“Look at what you've done, Conductor, the little darling started to cry!” The owl was shocked to hear his grandson suddenly wail as he was being carried away by him.

“You kidnapper! You stole him from his playpen just to spite me, eh! Ye peck neck!” The penguin rolled his eyes at the accusation, his shades hiding the action from the other bird who tried to calm the little one down.

“I did no such thing, Conductor, he fell out of the vent and thankfully landed in my hair. I was going to return him.” The sci-fi director tried to reach out to the little owlet and the young bird rose his tiny wings out toward him in an attempt to wiggle out of the tight hold he found himself in.

The Conductor was about to just take the missing child back to the others that he had already gathered, but loud noises in the vent above, and the screaming of panicked Express Owls that were shut down by louder yelling from the Moon Penguins, caused him to stop dead in his tracks. When he focused, the yellow owl could make out “Conductor” and “Grandchildren” in the cacophony of voices. The kids must have escaped again!

Swallowing the harsh insults with which he wanted to express his anger and disappointment for the lack of competence his owls displayed, he took a look at the vent shaft that his grandson had supposedly used to get to the DJ's dressing room. Said DJ observed him for a moment and wanted to open his beak to ask what his rival was doing. The penguin couldn't help but laugh when his rival tried to look up the vent and was brought to the ground as four little owlets fell right on him. “Need some help there, darling?”

The ear-like feathers of the old owl twitched as he sat up again. “I donnae need yer help!-” He turned to look at the young birds with rage still present in his voice. “- Come here!” The owlets started to hide behind the flashy penguin, shaking with fear and whimpering. The yellow bird didn't need the disapproving glare from his rival to know that he had messed up badly...He had scared his grandkids. “I'm sorry, I...I should have taken some time off to play with ye.” His voice was uncharacteristically quiet, the confidence in it gone. They only wanted to be with him...and he had just shoved them away.

When the owlets hesitated, the sci-fi director put his contempt for the old owl behind and bent down to talk to the kids. “How about we get you some toys, darlings?” That got their attention easily. DJ Grooves sent his penguins to pick up some of the cheap plastic props from storage. The Conductor meanwhile, had an idea to get the affection of his grandkids back and had his owls set up the big trainset that he had shoved into a corner of his office and put it on his set. Maybe he should have looked at the measurements before buying it.

The young birds played with the small space shuttles that the DJ had brought for them...until they heard the high pitched sound of a train whistle on a smaller scale. The yellow owl watched as his grandkids admired the train and the three carts it pulled. He was a bit worried when they decided to climb onto the carts and ride around on them, but he smiled when he noticed their happy faces and cheerful chirps. Wondering where the kids had went, the penguin checked on his rival's set, finding the old bird in the middle of a small railroad, surrounded by ecstatic owlets. He rolled his eyes when the Conductor noticed him and gave his signature smug smile, the very same one he always had to endure whenever the Western director won the Award. “Did ye think ye could replace me, DJ peck neck? Nae, ye cannae have 'em, I love these wee blighters!”

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anachronism-ahitzine · 1 month

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Mafia Party!

The second of the two fics that I submitted to @anachronism-ahitzine Check out the other artists and their amazing pieces.

The gentle noise of waves drifting to shore and the squawking of seagulls that were normally so prevalent among the hardly busy port of Mafia Town, were now being drowned out by the loud honking of three incoming cargo ships, a rarity, as the small port usually only await one ship per day. The Mafia aboard all looked merry, as they slowly docked the ships and unloaded their cargo, working a lot harder than they normally would. The burly men were even humming a song, which would have been ear grating to others due to them being notoriously off-key, but none of them seemed to be bothered by that as they lifted the heavy crates and brought them over to the marketplace. One Mafia Goon seemed to be confused by the word “Kidney” being on the crate that he was carrying and started to make his way toward the black market with it, only to be stopped by his fellow Mafia. “Fellow Mafia is going the wrong way, we bring crates to marketplace.”

“Label says 'Kidney', we don't need kidney at festival.” Another of the men pointed at the other side of the crate.

“Label reads 'Beans', beans need to be brought to kitchen.” With confusion, the Mafia Goon that carried the rather vexing crate turned the wooden box and held the crate with one hand, scratching his bald head with the other.

“Mafia confused. What is crate containing, bean or kidney?” A more active and impatient goon decided to enforce a simple rule that their boss made up 'When in doubt or confused, simply punch the problem', so he did just that and punched a hole into the top of the crate revealing kidney beans, which resulted in a collective “Oh!” from the confused men.

When the group reached the marketplace, the preparations were well on their way. A few Mafia were standing on very puny-looking stools to hang up garlands, others were preparing a pyramid of wooden barrels for one of the main attractions of the festival, which was adequately yet plainly named 'Mafia Arrival Day', which was held every year in commemoration of the day they overtook what was formerly known as the City of Calcite and Adventure, or simply Calcite City for short. A group of them were straining to put up the golden statue of their leader, they had tied ropes to it, and were trying to make it stand upright. Due to their high strength it was fairly easy for them...but what they had in brawn they certainly lacked in brain, as the statue was now upside down, it's feet in the air.

“What is this?! Can't you do anything right?!” The boss of the Mafia arrived to inspect the preparations and was furious to see that they had somehow flipped his statue-self. “Put it upright, now!” He stomped his foot in anger at the incompetence that he had to deal with every single day, not even the jolly atmosphere or the beautiful, sunny day, brought him into a better mood. The Mafia men hurried to fix their error, when the statue landed on its side with a loud clang, he grit his teeth and let out a screech that made the blood in the bald men's veins run cold.

“Sorry boss, Mafia couldn't read instructions because of other Mafia dropped it in water. Ink got very messy, make everything look like chicken-scratches.” One of them explained, but their boss had none of it. Even if their boss was a lot smaller than the other Mafia, he had glare that was piercing their souls. “Don't glare at Mafia, please, Mafia want to keep soul. Mafia not want to end up like victims of eerie ghost in Subcon.”

The boss of the Mafia raised an eye brow in confusion, not really sure what his subordinate was talking about, but whatever it was seemed to have greatly disturbed not only him, as he could see some of the other Mafia Goons shaking. “Pull yourselves together, men! We won't be afraid of some apparition! I- I mean, we, will soon rule the whole planet!” The smaller man flashed a smile and stood rather proudly, his cockiness almost became his downfall as he barely dodged a huge meat one a bone that came barreling down the road and nearly flattened him on its way. “Concentrate, you morons! You'll ruin the whole festival!”

As the sun started to slowly set in the horizon, the marketplace of Mafia Town was finally ready, the garlands were all in place...albeit a little crooked, the barrels were organized, more or less, some somehow ended up on the floating platforms that none of them had access to, and the statue was placed the right way up this time. The majority of the Goons had decided to relax at the beach, one of them even brought a grill to serve grilled fish and hamburgers, he even managed to only burn himself twice this time! Other Mafia have turned in for the night while others were watching their favorite shows on TV. Everyone was relaxing after the hard day of work, but their leader was still out and about, making sure that faucets were all tightly closed, preventing the lava from flowing. It was the one job that he really didn't trust anyone with but himself, given the track record of his rather intellectually challenged men, it was likely a very smart move on his part.

As soon as the sun started to rise the next day, the normally rather relaxed and more or less easy going Mafia Goons rushed to the marketplace to light the torch on the hand of the statue of the Mafia Boss, which signaled the start of the holiday. The festivities were started off with the first of the three activities, the race! The starting point and end were different each year, but this year, the race would start in the back alleys and go all the way to the beach. The Mafia that were not participating watched their boss make his way to the white line to start off the race. If asked why he never participated, it was due to the fact that he would easily win, no question, so he deemed it unfair to his fellow Mafia. (The slightly smarter members of the Mafia knew however, that it was simply because he hated losing) As there wasn't really a requirement to how the participants needed to get from point A to point B, some found rather unconventional means of transportation. One stuck to the original way, opting to simply run to the goal, while the second was using a meat on the bone that he was balancing on top of, while the finally Mafia Goon was using...a rocket.

The Mafia Boss was nearly flattened once again, when he gave the signal to start, and the meat on the bone nearly crushed him. A 'Sorry, boss!' was heard when the Mafia realized his mistake and heard the growls of frustration that came from the short, red-clothed man. The Rocket Goon apparently had trouble starting his risky vehicle and jumped off of it kicking it once and recoiling as he came to realize that kicking solid steel was quite painful. “Stupid rocket, start!” He yelled at it, to no avail. The burly man scratched his scalp, contemplating what to do, meanwhile, the running Mafia and the balancing Mafia were a quarter and half way to the finish line respectively. “Wait Mafia forgot important item Mafia need fire to start rocket.” He checked all the pockets on his person, even his breast pocket which had a pink handkerchief in it, thankfully for the Rocket Mafia, none of onlookers seemed to have noticed this rather unmanly item. In a moment of brilliance, very uncharacteristic of the bald men, the Rocket Mafia realized that he could get a fire easily from the statue! The way to and from the marketplace took the risk-taker so long, that his competitors were already close to the finish line...one at least. Despite going at a moderate 3km/h (1.86 mph), the exhausted Mafia, that was using his own two legs, was still far ahead of the other that had an issue with getting his unconventional means of transportation past a bridge, as the huge piece of meat was way too big to fit on it.

With a loud bang and a cloud of black smoke that left the audience covered in soot and ashes, the man on the rocket indeed became the fastest man alive, gaining more and more speed as he made his way to the beach. 'Mafia fastest man alive, Mafia easily win race!' were the men's thoughts as he tried to smile while trying not to fall off what was clearly the most Mafia of all vehicles! His smile, however, quickly faded when he dashed way past his goal and out to sea. It was at that moment that he realized that his plan was very flawed.

Some of the Mafia at the beach were in awe, watching the Rocket Mafia get smaller and smaller on the horizon, while some of their fellow Goons were congratulating the Walking Mafia on his victory.

Between the first and second major activity was a time to just relax and enjoy the day, enjoying the island that they had forcefully taken away from the previous inhabitants. Some Goons were relaxing by the fountain in the marketplace, chatting while looking at the sloppily placed decorations. Others took the chance to enjoy some food in form of grilled fish, hotdogs, and steaks that had the face of their beloved leader carved into it. Miraculously, not a single man died of food poisoning that day.

The second contest of the day was the barrel throw. It was held on the marketplace and used the barrels from the pyramid they had prepared the day prior. The Goons from the casino had opened a stall, where the Mafia in the audience could place bets on their favored contestant. When the first contestant grabbed a barrel and barely managed to lift it, the audience erupted in laughter. “Come on, son, make Mafia proud!” One of the men shouted from the sidelines, trying to cheer the young Mafia on, before turning his head to the person next to him. “Mafia know son is too weak to win, never strong enough to punch even old lady, but Mafia is trying to be good father. Mafia told son that he has chance to succeed, but Mafia know son never succeeds, son must learn lesson, builds character.”

The young Mafia threw the barrel as far as he could...but only managed to toss the heavy wooden object a meter. (3.3 feet) far. He sighed and hung his head as he walked off, feeling like he had failed his father. Nobody doubted for a second that the second contestant, an average looking Mafia Goon, would easily throw the barrel further. He likely would have done so...if the general clumsiness, inherent to most Mafia, hadn't caused him to trip and drop the barrel right on his foot, which resulted in everyone breaking out into hysterical laughter yet again. A very muscular Mafia Goon, with a comically large torso and in comparison very stubby legs, had easily garnered the favor of everyone present, even the Mafia Boss had placed his bet on the man. He lifted the barrel as easily as one would pick up a small pebble, and readied himself to throw it way out of bounds of the contest. Victory was far from his grasp, however, when a flock of seagulls decided that it was payback time for one of their brethren, that the muscular Mafia had punched for trying to get a fish for their kid. He flailed around as the vindictive birds swarmed him and bit him, causing him to drop the barrel behind him, netting him negative points.

Everyone was quiet for a moment, in utter disbelief of what had just happened, until one burst out in laughter and the others joined...aside from their boss, who was raging and stomped on his hat repeatedly, because he had lost the bet. To his surprise, and even more so to the surprise of his father, the young Mafia was deemed the winner.

As the sun was starting to set, the arm wrestling contest started and Mafia Boss was once again the referee, which caused a lot of nervousness for the participants who were more afraid of his sharp gaze, rather than the brute strength of their opposition. In the end, nobody won as the Mafia started to flee after seeing a slimy space alien that crashed the party.

The alien repeated “Leave the island, or I'll curse you all!” multiple times as it attacked the Mafia, jumping on their heads while snickering. The only one who seemed mostly unfazed was their leader, who chased the alien away with his daggers after scolding his goons for running away in fear from a small and wimpy-looking mud monster. After that small foe was vanquished, the festivities resumed with just a little unease still present, it was visible the most in the Mafia that were lighting the rockets for the fireworks, who burned themselves on the fuse of the rockets each time they were lighting it.

“Alright, men, listen up!” The boss of the Mafia climbed onto a crate to give a speech like every year, his voice reaching even the Goofy Mafia that had been thinking about alien conspiracies up until that point and had been stuck in his thoughts. “It marks three years now since we made this island our new home. Thanks to the continues efforts of ME...and you, we're close to finishing up the improvements necessary to bring our families over here!” The goons cheered after that message.

“Mafia finally be able to see wife again, Mafia missed being nagged at for forgetting to take out trash.” One Mafia wiped away a tear and was consoled by the one next to him, who put a hand on his shoulder.

The boss rose his fist to the air. “Let's work hard on reaching that goal, no slacking this year!” Most Mafia cheered aside from one in the back.

“Mafia wasn't slacking, Mafia was working hard on repairing building while Boss was sleeping on throne.” Thankfully for that Mafia Goon, his boss didn't hear him.

All in all the festival was a big success and once again served it's purpose, bringing the Mafia together, even if it usually resulted in monumental chaos.

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