Ursine Battle Royale!
(part 6)
Pratt's Rainbow Gardens, for its somewhat frumpish, though not-quite-down-at-heel look such as was bound to attract especially the regular stop from United Interstate Wrestling for taping matches (as well as past glory chronicled in displays in the lobby and vestibule), was no doubt packed to the rafters and to a man, woman and child as was fond of "wrasslin'" (as opposed to the WWE brand thereof in its kitschy tackiness) for what Hokey Wolf hoped would be the ultimate challenge of ursine supremacy last seen indirectly on no less than three occasions at Milwaukee's since-closed Washington Park Zoo in 1932, to the chagrin of zoo management and the parks board, as things turned out.
Yet before the match was to get underway (two falls out of three deciding the winner), even before the crowd warmup, there was certainly much in the way of discussion over whether a polar bear like Breezly Bruin or a Kodiak like the Hair Bear Bunch's somewhat klutzy and inept Square Bear would be the ultimate exemplar of ursine supremacy in the "wrasslin'" arena.
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Meanwhile, back in the alley off Hollywood and Vine, Top Cat and clowder's somewhat amateurish sports book was taking wagers wholesale on the probable outcomes, including several (howbeit modest) such predicting that such would come out as a "Mexican standoff" (as in having no clear or obvious winner, even with two falls becoming the winner), and even Benny the Ball imagined just how lush the gravy train would turn out being until Spook realised that TC would have to pay back the winners if their wagers came out as predicted, and then some.
"Technicalities, Spook, technicalities!" was how an irate TC responded, adding that "What really matters, boys, is that we made quite the money and we're bound to be living high for awhile!" Prompting Choo-Choo to wonder how long that could turn out being, which left TC speechless and bereft of response.
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Returning to Pratt's, Huckleberry Hound's predictably-awful musical voice in the warmup generated a guaranteed share of laughs and catcalls as much as The Bungle Brothers' ur-vaudeville act, consisting mostly of washed-up puerile schoolyard humour and some play-acting of wrestling which, in its own way, played up the laughs wholesale ... and before long, it was time for The Main Event, Hokey Wolf striding forth into the centre of the ring to announce the start of the match, acknowledging that "the inspiration, folks, came by way of some bizarre history I read recently about what happened once at the zoo in Milwaukee," replete with no less than three incidents where the dominant polar bear "dunked" in a small water hole in the bear display to death brown bear cubs, no doubt attracting much visitor unease ... and the introductions of the combatants pulled no punches in hyperbole:
For the polar bear side, no less than the Terror of the Tundra, the Nuisance of Camp Frostbite until its shock deactivation ... from no less than Nome, Alaska ... BREEZLY BRUIN!!!!
And--
In the brownish bear arena, he may be lovably dumb, let alone comfortably numb, and yet Hair Bear and crew like him as much as everybody else! So, from Malibu, California, put your hands together for--SQUARE BEAR!!
(As for who got the more blatant entrance into the ring, the debate is bound to be rather long, but many will say Square Bear's treatment ran rings around the legendary Gorgeous George, himself known for theatrically flamboyant ring entrances ahead of televised wrestling matches back in the 1950's, the kind Snagglepuss would just drool over.)
Once it got down to business ... things couldn't have become more farcical, almost kabuki-like, plenty of bluffing and hysterics such as were good for laughter. Yet you could hear calls from supporters of both in the stands demanding some action for once, each trying to determine their first move.
Until exactly four minutes, thirty-three seconds into the match, when Breezly Bruin pulled off a near-tripping manouvre which had Breezly's right foot grabbing Square Bear unawares in like fashion, hoping such would send Square Bear to the mat. It did, but momentarily, as Square Bear pulled a reprisal move identical to the original on Breezly Bruin ... and from there on out, the Ursine Battle Royale! (as such had been promoted all along) was going at a rather hilarious and at once comical pace, with both polar bear and Kodiak bear pulling no punches, comedic and physical, in seeking to assert ursine dominance once and for all.
Shoving, belly bumps, fist grabs, tripping moves, nothing was too good for the match to hand, and never mind how far it was bound to go before either one wrestler fell twice in three attempts or had to be otherwise stopped by the referee--or whomever else had the duty to do so.
And as a matter of fact, a full-on thirty-nine minootas into the match, to be precise about it, an utterly incessant sounding of the timer's bell (and an almost fanatical pitch thereof, at that) caught as much the in-person audience as those watching on pay-per-view cable and satellite feeds off their guard as Hokey Wolf stepped into the ring and, in his Sgt. Ernie Bilko tone and nuance, made the following announcement:
"I am hereby stopping the match as of this moment ... and the match is hereby declared--A DRAW!"
And you could just hear the sheer outrage of catcalls and aroused anger from the stands as the announcement faded away, followed by both combatants having to be escorted posthaste from the ring to avoid likely assaults from attendees on the news of this Battle Royale having been declared a draw.
How did it turn out for both? I'll leave you, the reader and Old Hanna-Barberian, to decide as much.
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Not long afterward, Honey and Sis' shortwave worldcast devoted some discussion to the whole farce, the following being but an excerpt:
HONEY: Thankfully, folks, we didn't bet any money on this joke of a wrestling match, and whoever bet anything probably must be crying into their beer big time.
SIS: Except, maybe, such who hoped the match would end up as a draw like it did. Some even using "Mexican standoff" in their wagers on the outcome.
HONEY, wryly: And you wonder what kind of a payday they'll have on the news.
SIS, imitating the stentorian tones of a male announcer delivering the "billboard" type of announcement: "And now, stay stewed for the nudes ..."
(Which certainly saw quite the share of hilarity ensuing on the shortwave ether among such listening, especially so in the standbys of Gilly-Gilly Ossenfeffer Katzenellenbogen-by-the-Sea, Mixingham-on-Sea, and, for good measure, Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch, Wales.)
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Top Cat and clowder: When it emerged that the match had ended in a draw, and that substantial sums had been wagered thus to that effect, when it came time for the payoff ... when it was all over, the clowder were left with pretty much enough to kill a Sunday afternoon at some isolated beach between Venice and Malibu off Pacific Coast Highway in a basic sort of way, yet while still being able to wear but themselves.
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because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.
you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.
you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.
don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.
if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.
you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:
how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!
aren't you happy yet?
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KIM KITSURAGI - “Is that. My kineema.”
COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] - Something in him is about to break, *big time*.
EMPATHY - And it’s not going to be pretty, do something!
- DRAMA [Formidable] - Everything is fine!
- “Sure is.”
DRAMA [Formidable: Failure] - Surely he’s aware that he’s not the *only* person in the world who owns a Kineema?
YOU - “Is it really *yours*? I mean, plenty of people have their own Kineemas, right? Like working men, government offices, uh, firefighters I guess, maybe even animal control people? Exactly! A million different people who could’ve driven it into the uh…”
DRAMA - Pause, my liege! Ixnay on the Ineemakay!
YOU - “It could even be our *mysterious* joyrider!”
KIM KITSURAGI - Your frenzied babbling falls deaf to the lieutenant's ears. Instead, he approaches the broken vehicle, sunken in the ice. He moves with a caution and gentleness you haven’t seen him display before.
INLAND EMPIRE - It must be cold and lonely down there, in the icy water. Maybe he could sense its sorrow, calling to him…
PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Easy: Success] - His hands, which are always stiffly placed behind his back, are trembling.
ENDURANCE - This is the shuffle of a tired, tired man.
HALF LIGHT - He’s going to do something drastic because of you. Oh god, terrible! You’re a terrible liar! You can’t look at this, you just can’t!
VOLITION [Formidable: Success] - It's not *you* who drove his kineema into the sea. You have plenty of faults, but this one is decidedly not yours.
KIM KITSURAGI - He kneels down with his head bowed, casting his face in shadow. He plants a hand on the ice to stabilize himself, squinting to get a better view of the motor carriage. “Detective, it says ‘57’ on it.”
YOU - Sweat drips down your brow, and you feel a terrible headache coming. “Maybe our joyrider has an affinity for that number?”
LOGIC - He's not stupid, he knows that it's not that.
KIM KITSURAGI - “57.”
YOU - “What about 57?”, you brace yourself.
KIM KITSURAGI - “Precinct 57.”
YOU - You wince. “Kim, look-”
KIM KITSURAGI - “When I woke up in the Whirling-in-Rags with no memory of what happened during the days before, I've taken note that something of mine has gone missing.” He grits his teeth. "A very. Important. Something."
He runs his hands over his face, messing his already unkempt hair in the process. Regret creeps up on his features. “God. Fuck. They’re going to fire me over this, they’re not going to hear me out.”
EMPATHY - Desperation settles in the lieutenant's tone. Sadly, you find yourself in agreement, even if you don’t want it to be the truth.
YOU - “People are more valuable than machines, Kim.”
KIM KITSURAGI - “Not people like me.” He rasps.
YOU - “…”
KIM KITSURAGI - Before you can say anything more, you fail to notice the lieutenant carefully walking onto the edge of the ice. He looks over the frigid water, a dizzying blue that mirrors and distorts his exhausted face back to him.
YOU - “Kim?”
KIM KITSURAGI - Seconds pass as he looks to be contemplating something. Out of nowhere, he casually takes another step where the ice ends and the sea begins. It happens all too quick for the lieutenant to even voice a call for help— if he even wanted to — his body plunging into the cold water before your eyes.
YOU - “KIM!!!!”
uhhh bonus stuff? sorry i have swap au brainworms pfttt
(im not sure what skills kim has at the moment so rn he only has narration as his inner monologue ok whoops, i would like to keep harry as the guy who thinks in dialogue trees so im still figuring it out pfttt)
also, this was done bc i wanted to expand on these old scribbles of mine, just like an idea, i just think that he'd be having an even worse time wheezes
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