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nour386 · 4 years

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Furry Fortune teller

Stan and Ford are stuck with a dilemma, Filbrick has told them to either find a way for Shanklin to earn his keep, or else the Stab Possum will be kicked back to the streets. Can they find a way to save their pet from the cold cruel outside world?

also on ao3!

This was my piece for the @lost-legends-zine. I hoep you enjoy this short adventure with the stans as they try to save their beloved pet possum.

“I can’t believe pop called me bologna!” Stanley threw himself onto his bed with a huff.

“He didn’t call you bologna,” Stanford corrected. “He called your idea bologna.”

“That’s the same thing! My ideas come from my head, my head is me, so he’s calling me bologna.” Stanley threw up his arms angrily.

“To be fair, you didn’t have much of a compelling argument,” Stanford said from behind his math book. “You can’t say he’s got stage fright to explain why we can’t show Pop Shanklin’s laser eyes.”

“I can too say that,” Stanley said. He slunk down to the floor. “I mean, you can’t prove he can’t do it just because you haven��t seen it. It’s like Santa or the Tooth fairy. Just because you didn’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t real.”

“I can’t argue with you there. However, Pop isn’t going to take that kind of reasoning.”

“I know. It stinks.” Stanley flailed on the floor of the bedroom. “Like old socks.”

“We’ve already tried testing his strength, agility and speed.” Stanford pointed to the obstacle courses that they had set up in their bedroom. “And he hasn’t shown any progress in any of them.”

“He’s made progress in being the toughest possum. Right Shanklin?” Stanley asked.

The stab-possum in question gave a small yawn before curling back to sleep. He’d nested in the shirt that Stan still hadn’t returned to the Sibling Brothers.

“Oh yeah, he’s tough,” Stanley said, grinning.

“Tough isn’t going to be good enough.” Stanford pursed his lips. “Pop said we needed something sellable with Shanklin or else he’ll put him out on the streets. Remember?”

“Don’t worry. This is just like in the latest issue of the Stilted Investigator Dogs! The pack is about to lose their dog house to some snooty poodle who wants to make it into a snooty salad bar unless they can raise the funds and stop her.”

Stanley continued his explanation of the plot line while Stanford nodded along, asking the occasional question about how dogs are able to communicate with humans yet still need to earn money.

“If they can talk to people why don’t they just put on a show and wow a bunch of locals and make money that way?” Stanford asked.

“I don’t know. Besides, if they did that they wouldn’t be able to stop the bank robber and get paid reward money for bein’ heroes!” Stanley said excitedly.

“That sounds contrived.” Stanford rolled his eyes.

“You’re just sayin’ that because there isn’t numbers on every page,” Stanley defended. “I bet if you read the first issue you’d see it’s really cool.” Stanley jumped to his feet and started to rummage through his drawers. “Now where did I leave it? I was reading it last night.”

He felt something bump against his leg. Looking down Stanley saw Shanklin with something in his mouth.

“Whatcha got there buddy?” Stanley asked, reaching down for whatever Shanklin was holding. “C’mon Slick, let ‘er go.”

Shanklin held tight with his teeth, but he was no match for the might of the one and only Stanley Pines. After a minor shake, and the accidental vaulting of Shanklin onto the lower bunk, Stanley found the comic he was looking for.

“Oh my gosh!” Stanley cried. “Sixer, did you see that?”

“I don’t think a possum shot-put will win us many friends,” Stanford deadpanned. “The last thing we need is some animal rights group giving Pop a whole bunch of calls.”

“No, not that!” Stanley bounded over to his brother. “Look, he brought me the comic I was looking for. It's like he knew what I was thinking.”

“He’s in the room with us. He could have just recognised what you were looking for from last night,” Stanford said. He watched as Shanklin scratched at Stan’s leg. “But that does raise the possibility of him having near-canine intelligence.”

“No way. He’s psychic. Like Ma!” Stanley waved his arms excitedly, dropping something from his comic book. “Oh no, my book mark.”

“You used a candy bar as a bookmark?” Stanford questioned. He watched with bemusement as Shanklin snatched the treat mid-fall and scampered under the bed.

“Hey give that back!” Stanley reached under the bed. “I was gonna have it for a midnight snack, but I didn’t stay up long enough.”

“Maybe that was why he took your comic?”

“Nuh-uh,” Stanley said, successfully pulling Shanklin out from under the bed by his tail. “He’s a mind reader possum, like Ma. But less hairy.”

“Probably shouldn’t say that around Ma.” Stanford stifled a giggle.

“That’s why you’re the smart one,” Stanley said, grinning.

----------------------

"So you're saying he needs a bigger curtain?" Ma Pines said, grinning.

"No way," Stanley said. "If we make it any bigger then no one'll see him. And then what's the point of setting up the show if no one is gonna see him?"

"Mystique, of course." Ma held up a fabric light. It was covered in stars and constellations. "When you start a show, you need to make a grand entrance. And what, my little free spirit, could be grander than a shadow puppet show?" She pinched Stanley's cheek before getting back to work.

"She does have a point," Stanford said from his perch on the floor. He had his nose in a fortune telling book, the current chapter titled 'Onion predictions and you!' "If we want a large number of people to come and watch Shanklin, then we'll need something really eye catching."

"He's Shanklin! What could be more attention-hogging' than that?" Stanley asked. "How many people have seen a stab-possum before?"

Shanklin was taking another nap, this time on an empty seat in the living room. He had been rushed downstairs the moment the brothers had agreed to ask their mother for help. And while he wasn't necessarily pleased with being so roughly picked up and moved, he was rather excited to smell the delicious lunch that Ma had been cooking.

"Everyone's seen a possum before, Stanley," Stanford said.

"Yeah, but he's a stab-possum!" Stanley insisted.

"The suckers won’t know that. Without his knife, they'll think he's some regular old possum, like your Pa," Ma said. She cut a small square from the fabric in her hand and laid it on Shanklin's back. "Oh, this could make a nice cape for you."

"Well they're dumb," Stanley muttered.

"Maybe instead one belly-aching, maybe you can help your Ma with cleaning up all this possum hair." Ma nodded to the lint roller.

"Aw, why do I have to do chores?" Stanley huffed.

"’Cause - uh, we need him prepped for his show," Ma said quickly. "Yeah, we're gonna need to clean Little Shanklin before his show so that the customers see his best side. You don't want him to get a bad picture do you? Imagine how bad the publicity would be. 'Failed Possum Performer Ruins Tourist Ice Creams with Fur.'"

"Oh no! Not the ice cream!" Stanley gasped.

"Yes the ice cream!" Ma smiled wickedly. "Are you gonna let all those delicious treats get spoiled by Shanklin's messy hair?"

"Never!" Stanley cried. He brandished the lint roller over his head as he ran to clean Shanklin of his loose fur.

"And make sure you get your clothes clean too," his mother called after him. She picked up her fabric once more and started to measure out the length of the curtain bar her sons had decided upon.

"You don't really think that would ruin his show do you?" Stanford had tucked away his book for now. He'd read enough methods of predicting the future that he was seeing stars.

"That depends on how you define 'ruin'," Ma said, smiling. "You know what they say, there's no such thing as bad publicity."

"But if people spread the word of how messy Shanklin is, then less people will come our way," Stanford said.

"That's why we need a good show to put on. How often do you think a tourist comes to this broad walk?"

"Once a vacation?" Stanford adjusted his glasses.

"Correct," Ma said. "And if new people are coming every day, then we've got new people to scam. And if more good news spreads about how amazing Shanklin's fortune telling is, then people will more likely take the risk of coming to see his show. And do you know why?"

"Because people could get their ice cream before coming to watch Shanklin's show?" Stanford asked.

"I knew you'd say that," Ma said, grinning. She reached down and pressed Stanford's nose, who giggled in response. "I was thinking that curiosity killed the cat."

"But satisfaction brought it back," Stanford rhymed. He was about to enjoy a well-deserved break when he heard his brother scream with pain, followed by a loud thud.

"Sixer, help! The lint roller attacked me!"

Stanford stood up to see his brother wrapped in the lint roller paper. It looked like a poorly designed Halloween costume, but stickier.

“I’m coming,” Stanford sighed.

--------------------------------

“Come one, come all!” Stan cheered. He danced along the boardwalk, catching the eye of every tourist and uninterested beach goer. “If you’re bored outta your mind from seeing the same old sand and water, then boy have I got what you’re missing!”

“I have been getting bored,” a tall man said. He wore a line of sunblock across his nose.

“I do hate sand and water,” the woman next to him agreed.

“What do you wanna show me? Is it a dinosaur?” The child with the couple asked.

“Even better!” Stanley hopped from one foot to the next. “A possum that’ll tell you the future!”

“That’s so cool!” A grin spread along the child’s face. “Mum! Dad! Can we go see the magic possum? Please please please?”

“It’s not by the beach is it?” His mother pursed her lips. Stanley wondered why she wore a swimsuit if she hated the beach this much, but chose to not say so out loud.

“No way. The sand makes his outfit uncomfy,” Stanley said.

“Well, if the possum is that understanding about the dangers of sand, then we have to go see them,” the child’s mother said smiling.

Stanley ran ahead, leading the vacationing family, and a few curious passersby towards Shanklin’s stand. His Ma had taken her crystal ball and its table out of the pawn shop and onto the boardwalk. Sitting on top of the crystal ball, in the centre of a mess of tarot cards, was the possum in question. A star-patterned hat adorned his head as Shanklin looked out at the audience. The possum gave a happy squeak when he saw Stanley return.

“Now Ladies, Gents and Germs, who's brave enough to have their fortune told by the most magical possum in the world?" Ma asked the crowd.

A young girl with pigtails, looking only slightly younger than Stan and Ford, bravely marched over to Shanklin's table.

Ma grinned. "Ah, a brave young lass aren't we?"

"All who approach Shanklin must place an offering in the gift bucket," Stanley tried his best to put on a mysterious voice. He held out a bucket towards the girl. She ran back to her parents and returned with a five dollar bill, which she dropped in the bucket before staring at the possum.

"Mr. Shanklin, where will I have the most fun today?" she asked.

"Take out a card, tell us what it says, and he'll tell you what he sees," Stanley said.

The girl nodded and drew a card from the many that surrounded the crystal ball.

"The Chariot?" she read.

Shanklin chattered his teeth to her.

"Sorry, I don't understand possum," she said in a small voice.

"Normally, a translation costs extra. But for such a pretty little lady, Stanley will give it to you for free," Ma said quickly, before Stanley could shove his bucket in her face again.

"Sure thing." Stanley put his bucket down next to the table. He tucked something into his pocket before walking over to the girl.

"The great Shanklin says that a Chariot card tells you of great enjoyment at the bumper cars at fun land. Or maybe with a toy car car you could get at the local pawn shop,” he added with a wink.

"What if my card was upside down?" the girl asked. "And I read it without turning it around?"

"Well, Shanklin says..." Stanley paused to let the possum in question squeak. "The exact opposite. If it was upside down then you should be careful, you might get bored out of your mind from the bumpers. Or maybe you should check out a doll from that pawn shop instead."

The girl gave Stanley a serious look before putting her card back. "Thank you, Mr. Shanklin," she said, before running back to her parents.

There many hushed whispers as Ma walked around, a small bucket in her hand. "So who’s up next? Shanklin takes advance payments." She grinned as various people dug out their wallets and threw a dollar or two into her bucket.

“Line up and Shanklin will read your fortunes!” Stanley said.

“Psst, Stan! That wasn’t the plan!” A harsh whisper came from somewhere unseen.

Stanley grinned. “C’mon Ford, this is more fun.”

“If we give a wrong prediction, people will be upset,” Stanford insisted. He poked his head out from under the table cloth, careful that no one from the crowd could see him.

“Half these people are here for the fun of it. I don’t think they’ll mind a bologna fortune,” Stanley said grinning, his bucket already full of ‘translation’ fees.

“Can you at least give a couple of the ones I’m suggesting?” Stanford asked. “This book is heavy, and writing predictions super-fast isn’t easy.”

“Are you sure you don’t wanna join me up here?” Stanley whispered. “It’s like storytelling, but more fun!”

“I’ll stick to the facts,” Stanford muttered.

“Here’s a fact. After this pop won’t call Shanklin a waste of space ever again,” Stanley said grinning.

“Definitely,” Stanford agreed.

----

Make sure to check out the companion piece for this fic found here by @garbagegnomes

#Gravity Falls #Staley Pines #Stan pines #Grunkle Stan #Stanford Pines #Ford pines #Grunkle Ford #Fic #Lost legends #Epilogue: Lost legends Zine #Caryn Pines #ma pines #Shanklin The Stab possum #mine

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