FONY - Cha – I do the exact same thing: I write what pops into
my head and then polish the thing up later to produce a good, clean, finished result.
[b]And
for all of you out there who are waiting for an update…:[/b]
Haha – yeah, sorry I haven’t
been up-to-date on chapters lately, but I do have good news: I just saved a bunch of money by… Well, ok, I
didn’t go to Geico, but I am half-way through the eighth chapter! Prepare to read to your heart’s content!
(heheh) 
Mitch, I’ve just read the whole fanfic and… [b]I
LOVE IT!!![/b] 
I’m still waiting for Chapter Huit!
Maggie - Haha – thanks, Maggie! hugs
I’m almost done with chapter huit! It’s
coming along rather nicely near the end… I’ll just have to touch some things up at the beginning. Other than
that, get your eyes ready for reading! (snigger)
I’m sure we’re all eagerly awaiting to find out what’s gonna happen next! 
Eh – I suppose the beginning could have been better, but I do kinda like how the ending
turned out…
Enjoy!
CHAPTER HUIT: TO EACH HIS OWN
“Puh-hahah! Oh man, that was a close one!” Remy joked to his comrade, the former of whom was brushing
dust and grime off of his sewer-infested fur.
"Heheh, you got that right. I think we scored a
nine point eight!" Emile playfully remarked back, his paw over his mouth in an attempt to halt the
continuous flow of uncontrollable giggles.
Remy and his brother, Emile, had just finished jumping down
through an open manhole outside the restaurant before landing sprawled on the floor in a very undignified manner.
Leaving the heavenly sky filled with stars above the manhole behind, the duo wasted no time in shaking their fur
of any loose kitchen crumbs or dust bunnies so as not to look too inconspicuous when approaching the doorstep of
their residence. The two brothers had a mind to keep their after-hour secrets in a locked and enclosed box…away
from the prying eyes and inquisitive, interrogative minds of their parents.
Walking along the sewer
floor, with Remy occassionally stopping to remove a plastic straw cover or a piece of toilet paper from his feet,
Emile and Remy reminicinsed of their nightly – and deadly – adventures…
"Eh, more like a
seven point two," the young blue rat sighed. “Heh – man, that was foolish. I could kick myself!”
Remy sighed again, kicking a nearby balled-up wad of paper with his foot…and sending it splashing into the
sewer waterways only a tail’s length away.
"Ahhh, come on. What’s a little miscalculation in
the kitchen, eh? It’s not like he’ll notice my footprints on the floury potholder anyway…," Emile said,
throwing his foolishness to the winds in a very off-hand and undignified manner.
"Guh…je…
You…you…you-you WHAT?!?" Remy blurted out stupidly.
"I just dropped a bit of flour on
the potholder when we scampered off, that’s all. I swear! That kitchen boy was probably too stupid to notice it
anyway…"
“Emile, how could you be so…so…”
“So what?” Emile
pondered, starting to look rather hurt and bewildered.
“Ugh. Stupid!”
Emile
looked behind him, hoping to notice someone else besides himself standing in the vacinity. After a quick search
however, it became apparent that no one but he and his very frustrated-looking brother were the only ones in
sight…save a couple of rats wandering around the confines of the sewer in the distance.
“Are you talking to me?” the pudgy little brother asked his companion tenderly, half-closing
his eyes in a wincing manner…ready to brace himself for whatever storm Remy cooked up and let out in rage…
But Remy didn’t explode in his brother’s face. Instead, he let his arms hang loose…admitting
defeat. He knew that he’d never be able to get his brother to understand such important things as wiping off
one’s footprints from a counter so as not to be accidently discovered. Better to save his energy for something
else, like escaping a few rat traps tomorrow…
"Pfff. Eh, forget it. It’s no cheesecake in a
burning oven," Remy said, shaking the whole thing off in one sentence. "Let’s just… Let’s just go
back tomorrow and try again, eh?"
Emile nodded, now smiling his big doleful grin again.
“Hey, wouldn’t that be funny if pops could see us now, huh? He’d probably go ballistic!” Emile joked.
“Ah, no sweat. Dad probably didn’t even notice that we’d gone,” Remy countered, internally
laughing with himself at the very thought.
"Cha. He’s probably sleepin’ in his cot right
now…," Emile snorted.
"And his newspaper in his paw! You can’t forget the
newspaper," said Remy, chuckling.
“Yeah yeah, and that silly twig in his mouth!”
“Oh yeah, and that blatant…soulless expression, like this…” And Remy puffed out his
cheeks and furrowed his brows, making him look like a dead-beat pufferfish on a lazy afternoon.
“Hahahaha!”, the two brothers laughed, slapping each other on the back in light of their humorous
little joke.
“Hey,” said Emile, "Hey, I bet he’s walking down the road wearing that
expression right now!"
"Oh sure, like he’d be energetic enough to walk out the
door…"
“Yea-- Ge-- Uhh. Uhhh…Remy?” Emile trembled…
"Not to sound
harsh or anything, but ya’ know…pops is gettin’ kinda “up there”, you know what I mean?"
“R-R…Remy?” Emile stuttered, nudging his brother urgently.
"And he still
plays Ping-Paw Ball like he’s four weeks old. I mean, come on, man! Wake up and
smell the chilli cheese omelettes, for crying out loud…"
“Remy!!”
“What?!” The “what”, Remy then saw, turned out to be a “who”, and that
“who” was alot closer to Remy’s face than he’d have liked it to be.
"Good
evening," replied a mournful, angry-looking figure in front of the two young rats, his paws on his hips.
"Sooo…you mind repeating that last sentence again? Only I’m afraid I’m too
old and lazy to walk out my own door on my own two
feet…"
“Uh… - gulp- Heh. Hey! Hi pops!” Remy said bashfully, giving his dad a
tiny wave with his fingers and grinning stupidly. "Heheh. Hey uh, some weather we’re having today,
eh?!"
"Oh yes, some weather all right. Not a cloud in the sky; stars out; owls and cats
ready to swoop down on you any second; rats running around in the kitchen when they’re not supposed to!!"
“Uhhh…r-r-rats?? Heh – what rats?” Remy shuddered, his voice trembling with every
syllable. Emile, eyes shifting nervously back and forth from Remy to his father, tried to remain calm and
assertive whilst attempting to not make eye contact with either of the steadfast rats…especially the tall,
angry one. He could obviously sense that his nerve-racked brother was tyring to gloss the whole thing
over…unsuccessfully. Although, from the looks of things, his pop wasn’t buying it…
“Son,” said the father rat, his very word making Remy jump ever so slightly with a respectful fright,
even though no scent of a harsh note could be heard in his tone of voice, "let me show you
something…"
“Oh no… The lecture,” Remy thought to
himself, disgusted.
Taking Remy’s paw in his, Django turned tail and led his forelorn son down the
long, wet, and dripping hall towards a nearby corner. Remy, his paw still held in a firm grip and his head
hanging pitifully like a convicted murderer being led to the gallows, trodded along in his father’s
wake…trying to ignore the constant tugging of his arm and the pitter-patter of pudgy little feet supporting the
weight of his chubby brother behind him. To take his mind off of his embarassing predicament – which, in turn,
was earning alot of stares from passer-by – the little chef, who was feeling even more diminuative then usual,
glanced up at the dark and looming walls of the sewer that flashed past him. Although he and his family had taken
up residence in this dirty, rotten habitat only a couple weeks ago, Remy had spent most of his time away from the
stench and grime…and instead in the luxurious kitchens of Gusteau’s glorious restaurant. Henceforth, he had
never really gotten to do much exploring around the sewer waterways in his spare time, and it was only now that
he realized certain little nuances and curious tidbits about the place that he’d never noticed before until
now…
Ahead of him, and looming ever closer, was a large open space which resembled a dome-shaped,
almost labratorious-looking, cave…only with much more luminosity than a regular den would accompany. The source
of light came from an open manhole in the ceiling of the dome-built cavern, the rays of moonlight hiting various
parts of the sewer and scurrying rats that walked into the light of the protruding beams. On the far left-hand
side of the dome, in a dusty corner, sat a huddle of rats by a fire that had seemingly been crafted in an old tin
tuna can. Two of the rats appeared to be having a lengthy argument about the quality of lobster legs, whilst the
remaining three kept busy playing a game of Par-cheese-y. One of them Remy
recognized as his family’s own nextdoor neighbor: a delightful, yet elderly, old fellow who spent most of his
time passing the day away with checkers and the night away telling youngsters not-too-frightening ghost stories
of cats and mouse traps.
As his dad rounded a corner that swerved to the right, Remy took a glance at
the walls…and realized that long, solid pieces of cardboard with names written on them in waterproof ink were
strewn around corners of the walls like street signs: [i]Silver St.; Water Closet Way; La Rouge
Circle; Tag-Bit Path; Ratatouille Rail-Way[/i]… Ratatouille? "What an interesting name for a
sign…," Remy thought to himself, unable to contain his curiosity despite his pitiful predicament.
“Almost sounds like some kind of delicacy…”
It was only when Django rounded a second
corner that Remy’s ears picked up the sound of a second pair of feet pattering along behind him. Remy didn’t
like the sound of them; they connotated a rascally air about them, and each foot seemed to move in a quick
step…occassionally missing a pace…as if the new intruder kept tripping over his or her tail.
“Brudder! Umph… Bro-brudder! Wait for me!”
“Ohhh…nooo…,” Remy mourned,
letting out a long…slow breath of air in indignation. Django, on the other hand, stopped short in a split
second.
“Bruuuuuddeeer!”
“Genevieve?!” Django blurted out, turning
swiftly 'round to face the little pair of feet that halted quite suddenly beside Remy. "Ugh, Genevieve…I
told you to stay at home with your mom."
“Umm… Umm…mummy not home,” Genevieve
sweetly replied, one hand clutching Remy’s fur and the other holding on to her short and diminuative
tail…which she was now lightly chewing between her still-not-fully-developed incisors.
"She
what?" Django said, surprised.
“Uhh…mu-…umm… Mummy had to store.”
“No offense, but could you speak plain English, please?” Remy said in an annoyed fashion, his free hand
trying to brush Genevieve’s clutching paws off his fur and his eyes starting to droop. He must have stayed out
later than he thought…
“Remy!” Django countered, glaring at his exhausted son.
“Alright, go on, sweetie. Where did mummy go? To the store?”
"Uh-huh. And she be back in
no time!" Genevieve said delightly, raising her hands up in the air and pasting a big smile on her face as
she said “no time”.
"But what about Marie? Didn’t your mother tell her to watch you
while she was gone?" Django asked the little white ball of fluff.
"Yeah…but…but she
playing with her hair in her room! And…et, um, et la porte was open…sooo…," said Genevieve, letting
loose a short bout of French in her sentence and wagging her tail in delight.
Django rolled his eyes
and sighed, disgusted. “Pfff… Ohhh…boy.”
“Pfff… Ohhh…boy,” copied
Genevieve, giggling to herself childishly as she said it.
Django simply glared at her, obviously
trying not to blow his top in this odd situation. “Did she even notice you run out the door?” He asked,
doing his best to remain calm and assertive.
“Je ne crois pas…,” Genevieve responding, now
playing with her toes.
“Why you little rat you…,” blurted out Remy, already quite upset.
“Why you little rat…you! Hee hee!” mimed Genevieve, giggling.
"Dude, quit
it!"
“Dude, quit it!”
“Stop it!”
“Stop it!”
“Ahhhh…SHUT UP!!”
“Ahhhhhh…shut–”
"Remy!! Zip
it!" Djano yelled indignantly.
“Rem-yyy! Zip it!”
"Genevieve, please
stop copying me."
“Okie-dokey!” said Genevieve, giving her father the “ok”
signal as she said so.
“Now turn around…”
“Like this?” asked
Genevieve, obeying her father with a simple turn of her heels.
"That’s right! Now, on your
mark…get set…go! Hup! Duo, trois, quatre. Hup! Duo, trois, quatre…"
"Hup! Duo, trois,
quatre! Hup…duo, trois, quatre! Hup…" And off went the little albino rascal, straightening the pink bow
attatched round her spindly neck as she marched back off in the direction she had come…in a very zig-zaggity
fashion…
“How come she always does what you say?!” Remy questioned his father, the latter
of whom had his eye set on his light-footed daughter disappearing into the distance, and making sure that she
didn’t miss one step off the route to home.
“Because I’m smarter than you…,” Django
replied matter-of-factly.
“Hey!”
“Well, it’s true ya’ know.”
“No…I mean. Ouch! Hey!” Remy cried, cringing and pulling back slightly as if in pain.
“What?”
"Yow! You're breaking my arm, dad!"
"Oh, will you look
at that…," Django obliviously stated.
"DAD!!" Remy shouted, trying to pull his
dad’s bone-crunching grip off of his thin and fragile arm.
"Huh? Oh. Ohhh! Pff. Heheh -- sorry
son," chuckled the father rat, releasing Remy of his tight embrace in a split second. Remy just glared at
his far-sighted pop, rubbing his arm and biting his teeth to distract himself from the engaging pain searing
through his arm beneath his tender blue fur.
"And now...to business!" Django exclaimed
excitely…throwing his arms up in the air and smiling delightedly, the corner of his mouth crinkling in a wide
grin, all sign of annoyance or hard-bitten frustration in his voice forgotten.
"Bu- Umm...
-cough- B-business?" stuttered Remy, fearing the worst. Emile was still lying in his brother’s wake in a
sitting position, his thumbs twiddling and his large, round shadow stretching out to twice his real size. And
although he was keeping himself entertained with a scrumptious, juicy and half-eaten strawberry lying in his
path, it was the business statement that got his attention, for that could only mean one of two things: Either
Remy was about to get punished (one of Django’s favorite things to do when he was bored out of his mind and had
nothing else to do…) or was to be sentenced to stay away from any restaurant kitchens for a week (something
that Remy never paid heed to seriously). And Emile, obviously, wasn’t the only one who knew about those two
options.
Remy, in the other hand, was putting on a show of trembling in his father's wake; however,
Emile knew better than to fall for a simple trick like that. His stick-figured brother often pretended to shake
with fear right before his dad announced his “sentence”, always hoping that his pitiful – yet silent
– plea for mercy would get the better of his lowly-living father.
As Emile was silently
contemplating and arguing with himself on which form of “grounding” his father would choose for Remy,
and on whether or not Django would fall for Remy’s “trembling trick” once again, the truth presented
itself…
“Remy? Ya’ see that banana peel over there?” Django stated quietly, pointing to a
rotten, yellow, fleshy substance lying not a couple feet away from him.
“Yeah?” Remy
responded, still wobbling ever so slightly on his boney legs.
"This sewer ain’t exactly that
clean with that old thing lying around."
[i]"It’s not exactly spotless without
it either,"[/i] Remy mentally grumbled to himself, Emile staring at him as though he knew exactly
what his down-hearted brother was thinking.
"Have fun, son," Django said softly, patting his
son on the back as a sign as if perhaps to say, “Good luck cleaning up the garbage before dinner time!”
"Was that meant to be kindly? Only I think he broke my back with that "fond
farewell"…," Remy muttered, grinding his teeth and lashing his tail in a fit of rage as his father
jotted off down the grimy sewer road to partake in the ensuing game of Par-cheese-y
continuing between the huddle of rats in a far corner. As long as he could remember, Remy had always been
appointed the “poison sniffer” in his family: an appropriately-named title, judging by the fact that,
every week, Remy had to sniff every single piece of scrap and garbage that lay in the surrounding vacinity to
determine whether it was edible or not. He’d done this back at his old home, and the tradition certainly hadn’t
stopped when he’d landed in the sewer either. Unsurprisingly enough, the young chef wasn’t exactly crazy about
this whole idea, and was fondly gettting sick of it by the minute…
"Ahh...don't mind pops,
he’s always leaving you alone to clean up the garbage anyway. It’s not like you haven’t done it before,
bud," Emile soothed.
"Yeah, and it's not like I haven't done it a million times, either.
I’m sick of this place, bro! I wanna… I-I wanna be somebody!"
"Tell that to pops,"
Emile joked sarcastically, not really meaning what he said. But Remy pricked up his ears, pondering…
“Ya’ know, I think I will,” he said, his fingers rubbing and caressing his soft, fuzzy chin as if in
thought.
"Hm?"
"Yeah... Yeah, that's exactly what I'll do!"
"You'll get the pep talk..."
"I'll march up to dad right now and say,
“Hey, I’m not eating any more of your rotten onions!”" cranked out Remy, clearly not listening to
a word his brother was saying. His brother, moreover, was starting to chew on the rotten banana peel that Remy
was supposed to dispose of…
"I'm telling you, dad won't like it. He'll have you under his
grip before you can say…"
"...peeled potato chips! I'm goin' in! I...huh? What's
this?"
Emile's eyes darted to where Remy's were focusing. Lying on the floor in front of the
turquoise-painted little chef, rested a dusty albino-colored slip of parchment paper that lay crumpled up in a
heap on the dirty, cement-carpeted sewer floor. It looked quite old, as if it had been used several times.
Picking up the small parcel and pearing at it more closely, Remy noticed that there appeared to be some miniscule
writing on it…with traces of more words that had been constantly erased over and over again. There were even
little holes poking through the paper – holes so small that a creaure any bigger than a rat would not be be able
to poke its fingers through them. But instead of simply discarding of the wrecklessly-handled slip of paper,
Remy’s face split into a wide grin. Naturally. Only his sister Genevieve would care to send him something as
unnoticeable as this…
Often, and usually whenever Genevieve wanted her big brother to bake her
some cookies or gather for her some candy, the little flour-colored youngster would leave pieces of paper with
notes on them lying around where Remy could (usually) find them. Smiling in spite of himself, Remy carefully
unfolded the botched up little piece of paper and attempted to read the scrawny-written, zig-zaggity note
splattered upon the parchment. Making out the words, Remy read aloud:
[i]Bonjour, big
brudder! Moi having party with mommy tomorrow. Lots of tea and crumpets! Could big brudder make some cookies? Me
promise not to eat all of dough this time![/i]
And written in the bottom right-hand corner
of the paper, heavily blotched with ink and signed next to a diminuative pawprint, lay the name
“Genevieve”.
"Heheh -- why, the little rascal...."
"Hmm?"
questioned Emile, still chewing lightly on the peel of the rotten banana that he was dragging behind him.
"This is exactly what I need!" said Remy, slapping the paper with his paw as he said it.
"So dad thinks that I’m a worthless piece of garbage, eh? Well…heheh! We’ll just see about that, now
won’t we?" he grumbled, tucking the piece of paper into a fold of his fur.
"Dad's not
gonna like this…," Emile stated quietly to himself, not noticing that Remy was fully aware of every word
he uttered.
"Ohh...pish-posh and pompidou peanut butter. Let's go! Saddle up, my fair
brother!"
"But I'm still hungry!" complained "Rollie", eating the interior
of the banana as he said it.
"Exactly. Now come on! Straighten up! AtteeeenTION!!"
And as suddenly as if Remy had just cracked a whip at him, Emile immediately dropped the peel he was holding,
stood up as straight as a soldier – or, at least, as straight as his little legs would allow him to – ,
furrowed his brow and placed his right paw to his forehead…as if ready and waiting to give a salute at the
first word of command. Obviously, the two scruffy brothers had practiced this little “training session”
of theirs for some time, perhaps just for kicks or simply as practice in order to be “on the alert” at
any moment.
"As you know, we have a kink in the system," Remy stated matter-of-factly and
in a very straight-forward fashion, reminiscent of a general ready to engage in battle…and alerting his troops
of the faculties and dangers they must face in the process. Noticing a wayward stick lying on the ground by his
feet, Remy picked it up and began to pace up and down the sewer floor, pointing the stick at his brother every
now and then as if in charge of a very life-threatening situation.
"We're all aware of the
“problem”. Dad doesn’t think I’m “worthy” enough to be a fine flamboyant chef without
getting my whiskers dirty at least once…"
"Umm...general?" Emile asked, bobbing up
and down on his posterior and waving his paw high up in the air.
"Oui? And make it quick,
sergeant!" commanded Remy, pointing the stick at his brother.
"Does the plan involve
food?" questioned Emile, his stomach rumbling in unison.
"Of course it does -- that's the
whole point! We’re gonna cake…er…bake some cookies…"
Emile's ears pricked up in
expectation…
"...and serve them to dad."
Just as quickly as they had risen,
the chubby brown rat’s fluffly little ears drooped sadly back down disappointedly.
"And
Genevieve, too," Remy added as an after-thought. “Now buck up there, sergeant! Look alive!”
Up jumped Emile, ready for action!
"All men move to your stations! Let’s
go, go, GO!!! Start your engines!"
Almost instantly, Emile plopped
down on all four feet and started rotating his tail around and around in a circle like a diminuative little
rudder…sending pieces of dirt and sod behind him to fly out of his way and into the faces of other rats passing
behind him.
“Take position!!” Remy yelled over the noise of the “rudder”.
“Aye-aye, captain!” shouted aloud a squeaky voice that didn’t sound at all like Emile’s…
“Wha-? Matey?? MATEY!! Stop the engines! Stop the engines!”
screached Remy, waving his arms
impatiently to attempt to halt his brother from continuing with the tail spinning procedure.
"Who
said, ‘aye-aye’ there? No one says ‘aye-aye’ in my station without permission!" Looking up and down, the
little blue chef searched high and low for any sign of the vocal intruder. But alas!..not a soul could he find
who appeared to have uttered that short phrase…save a diminuative, puffy-cheeked, stout-haired fluff of a ball
in the form of an apparently innocent little mouse. He was rather greyish-brown in color, with a short tuft of
hair that stuck up from the top of his head…making him look as if he had a triangular-shaped mowhawk. And if
the obscure hair-do wasn’t enough to compliment him, the mouse’s back feet were spread out at an odd
angle…with his left food turned outward to the left and his right foot facing in the opposite direction. But
despite his unusual, yet rather intriguing, structure…he had a very friendly and confidential air about his
personality: everything from his black-button nose to his spindly tail seemd to emit a rather profusive
generosity about the place. He didn’t look more four months old – an adolescent young mouse, and one with a
very jittery personality at that. His name was “Pompidou”, a rascally little acquaintance of Remy’s
whom he had met in his early years. And despite his rather unusual quality of being seemily
“mangetized” to Remy and his family – following them wherever they went – , he had a knack of popping
up at just the right moment…
"Pompidou? What the heck are you doing here?" Remy asked the
little grey mouse intimidatingly, the mouse – moreover – taking care to place his hands behind his back in an
act of submission.
"Why, scouting for crumbs, captain!" emitted the mouse in a very squeaky
fashion, his whiskers suddenly trembling excitedly. “Making crackers I hear you were, Regy!”
“It’s ‘Remy’, and I’m making cookies you fool, not crackers!” Remy stated, his paws on his hips.
"I help you, monsieur!"
"Oh, for the love of peanut butter...," Remy
groaned.
"Looks like you've got a second soldier, captain!" Emile said happily, glad to
know that he wouldn’t be the only one gathering supplies and ingredients.
"Pfff...," Remy
sighed. "Ohh…all right. All paws to your battlestations, now! We’re gonna clean up this dump like peanut
butter in a freshly-made sandwich; like tap water running through a dirty sink; like a lawnmover in the yard, now
come on!!! Let’s move, move, MOVE!!!"
"Sir, yes, sir!" both Emile and the mouse
replied obediently.
"Umm...monsieur capitan? What exactly we supposed to collect? Buttons, oui
oui? Or papillions?" Pompidou squeaked.
"No no, my dear comrade. Today...we will be
collecting cookie ingredients from Gusteau’s! kitchens! Pompidou, I want you to search kitchens two and four.
And make sure to watch out for Colette’s knife – she’s fast… And “Rollie”! You…umm…you just
go wherever. Pick any kitchen."
"Le kitchens, monsieur? I thought we were supposed to
“clean up zees dump”, yes?" questioned Pompidou, confused.
"We are," stated
Remy matter-of-factly, “My dad: We’re going to clean up his attitude, that’s what we’re gonna do!”
Remy said, grinning mischievously.
"Ohh...oui oui, capitan! We go to do kitchens right we are,
yes! I not fail you, Regy!"
As all three comrades slipped off quietly to carry out their
individually appointed missions, Pompidou following his own hidden route, Remy couldn’t help but notice
something funny about his shadow. Not only was there one following him, but two! Looking behind him
inquisitively, who should he see but his brother Emile following his every footstep instinctively. Remy instantly
rolled his eyes at the grime-encrusted ceiling, sighing silently to himself. His pound-packed and chubby brother
had always taken to following him around since he was three weeks old. Although, as annoying as it sometimes got,
there was something rather endearing about it, too…
Stopping for a split second, Remy sniffed the
air inquisitively. “Uh-oh.”
"What?! What is it?!!" Emile jumped, immediately
going into panic mode as he usually did whenever the least little thing sounded (or smelled) suspicious.
“I smell a rat…,” Remy said, smirking.
"A rat?! Where? Where?!"
“Ahh! There he is! He’s over there!”
"Where?! Where?!!! Get it off!"
Remy sniggered. “Haha! You nut!”
"Ooo...nut? What kind of nut?"
“Macadamia.”
"Ooo...yuck. I hate those things. Ooo -- a macadamia nut!" Emile
said, expiring his words in ecstasy as he ran over to an abandoned macadamia nut lying on the floor close by.
"Hahaha!!" laughed the two brothers, giggling uncontrollably as if they were rambunctious
youngsters again, and causing passer-by to stare at them indignantly.
"Heh -- dude, why do you
keep following me, anyway?" Remy asked his pudgy brother, as they both headed off towards Gusteau’s
restaurant again for the second time that night.
"I dunno. Why do you keep saying
“dude”," Emile countered.
"I dunno. It's some weird, American term that I like.
I heard some tourists saying it once…" Remy said, climbing up a steel ladder that led to an open manhole
at the top of the ceiling.
"Sooo....Remy. What exactly was that secret reci-...reci-"
"-recipe," Remy corrected his brother, annoyed.
"Mm. Yeah. That,"
muttered Emile, almost indistinctly, attempting to dislodge a few left-over pieces of macadamia nut stuck between
his teeth while climbing up the slippery ladder after his brother and out into the open air.
Remy
rolled his eyes. His family had never really approved of his love for cleanlines and good-tasting morsels, or
him…for that matter. Having lived with them for pretty much forever, he’d slowly learned to wave it off.
However, it still got on his nerves a little every now and then…
Dodging a red bicycle that passed
quite close to he and his brother, Remy bounded off the street and onto a nearby sidewalk. Behind him, Emile was
still tenderly hunting for dropped tidbits along a slippery patch of floor, stopping every now and then to
scratch the back of his right ear with his hind foot – a difficult feat, considering the fact that his rather
pudgy posture often got in the way of his diminuative limbs.
It was only after he and Emile had
turned a corner down a blind alley – one that led to the back door of Gusteau’s! restaurant – that Remy
practically sprinted headlong into something with four corners, a cardboard coat, and a loud “plopping”
noise that accompanied its reaction to being bumped: a box of rat poison. Remy’s mind instantly raced back to a
few days ago, when that daily newspaper article his father had browsed reported an incident of mystery and
suspicion: the fact that a rat had gotten “snapped” near Gusteau’s! kitchen. Heaving a sigh, the
little cook left the “death box” in its gloomy residence beneath a set of looming pipes that slithered
and creeped down the backround wall like snakes.
[i]"Well.....there's something we
won’t be eating for dinner…,"[/i] Remy thought to himself, disregarding the intimidating box
and its deadly contents. "Hey…uhh…“Rollie”? Remy called out to his wayward brother, the former
comrade taking care to sprint away from that box as fast as possible.
"Hmm?" his brother
responded, smiling as he looked up from chewing on a couple of discarded cookie crumbs.
"You
don’t…," he sighed, puzzled with his own question and deciding how best to present it, "You don’t
think I’m an idiot…do you?"
Emile stared at Remy, the latter bracing himself for the
answer. Not that he was really worried about what his brother would say; he’d asked his dad the exact same
question only a couple weeks ago, to which he had replied, "No, son. You’re not an idiot. Of course you’re
not an idiot! Just take off the first ‘i’ and replace the ‘d’ with an ‘r’ and then you’ll get what you
are."
"Well, you know what dad said, "Emile responded, indicating that he had
obviously been there to hear what his father had stated that day. Remy’s ears drooped a little. "But I
think he’s wrong," Emile uttered, still munching on a few loose cookie crumbs scattered around on the
floor.
Almost immediately, Remy's ears pricked back up again, his whiskers twitching.
“I think you’re more like a…”
"Yes?" Remy pushed him.
"...an
alien." Emile swallowed the last of the oatmeal cookie crumbs in his mouth.
"A what?!"
"Well, just look at your fur color! And you are kind of skinny, dude. I mean, no offense."
Remy plucked at his fur, his ears now flattened again.
"Come on, where are those
ingredients anyway? I’m hungry!" Emile said impatiently, attempting to jump up onto the lid of a sleeping
tuna can and unsuccessfully plopping back down again, awaking the can from its slumber and causing it to fall
down on top of Emile. “I’m all right! I’m ok!” Emile called out from underneath the can, pushing the
heavy item off of him and patting his well-rounded belly.
"Heheh. Come on, let's go bake some
cookies, sergeant," Remy said, a gentle smile accompanying his half-closed eyes.
"But what
about pops? You know how much he hates it when you cook, and going near the two-footers…" (and by
“two-footers”, Emile meant “humans”), "…won’t make pop shut his mouth about the whole
thing any more than he’d stop eating garbage," said Emile, suddenly sounding nervous about the whole thing.
However, Remy simply turned 'round to face his pudgy, stubby-legged little brother in a confident
fashion, his eyes set and a wide grin pasted across his face. "To each his own, my dear brother. To each his
own."
Thanks for posting it! I’ve been waiting so long!
I’m gonna start reading it now!
Interesting! I
kinda knew his dad would find out somehow. Although I surprised at how calm he was about it. I was half expecting
him to blow his top or something I wonder what Remy’s padre will think of this little scheme…
Maggie - No problem! I hope
you like it.
lennonluvr9 - Haha – yeah, perhaps that chapter could have
used a little more work…actually. I really intended to included more action in it, but it just didn’t seem to
work with the theme. I was feeling in a rather calm state when I was writing it…and didn’t really feel like
including anything too exciting in that particular chapter… But don’t worry! It’ll get action-packed in the
next chapter, which will be based on a part from the movie.
I made Django calm and assertive due to
fact that Brad Bird said that he (Django) is the kind of guy who’s like, “Gimme a hug”, or something
like that. (snigger) So yeah – he’s not mad yet…but he will be later on…
Thanks for reading! Any more comments are whole-heartedly welcome.
I’m going to try to read it again. =P I was reading it
when we got a call that we had a dentist appointment that day in a few hours (fillings, yay. =P) and now, I’ve
got to go to school in five minutes. So I’m takin’ it to the limit! xD Too bad I woke up late, and this week
feels like it’s taking forever.
So! I shall review once I’ve read. Luckily I’m typing fast!
FONY - Oh yeah – those wonderful dentist appointments.
(snigger)
Heheh – take your time! I’m in no rush.
Woot!! I finally got to finish reading. ^^ It’s awesome- I love the comedy you do, with the
use of food names for exclaimations. Like … peeled potato chips! lol!
Haha – well thank you, FONY!! I really appreciate
it! I feel that the chapter itself could have been a little better, but I’m glad you guys like it anyway. Thanks
again!
Most excellent! I really enjoy reading it. It keeps me going until the movie comes out.
Do you read
Hank the Cowdog? That conversation about the macadamia nut reminded me of that series. It was funny! 
sharpie - Haha – thanks, sharpie!
Hmm…Hank the Cowdog? Heheh – nope, I’ve never heard of it before in my
life! I’ll have to check it out, though. That whole “macadamia nut” thing is based upon a little joke
my sister and I played on each other some years back. I’d forgotten about it until I got half-way through
writing the chapter, so I decided to put it in there.
I feel like such an idiot. Ok, first of all…take a look at this:
Ratatouille Podcast: The Technical Indredients
After laughing your head off, scan my fanfiction story.
I mean, seriously, I wish I actually had some humor in my noggin’! I can write, but can I make it fun? Nooo… I need people to help me out with this, and my sister is the only other consultant I can go to for humor (besides my mom and dad, of course).
Ah heck, I just wish I could write more engaging stories. Oh well – look ahead for chapter nine anyway. The good thing is that, after all of these Ratatouille podcasts, I have more information and inspiration!!
slaps self Write better, Mitch!
Hehe, don’t worry about comedy Mitch- I’m bad when it comes to humorous things. They only come up when I’m talking to my friends and are sometimes hilarious, but can never fit into context. As far as writing goes, I don’t force it since most of my stuff is darker, but some humor slips its way in every so often. =P
Heheh – cha, I guess I shouldn’t fret over lost pies. (Don’t know where the heck that came from…) (snigger)
It’s no spilt tomato soup, but I still wish I could write better and funnier chapters. Oh well – you’re right. I won’t worry about it.
And I think you can be pretty funny at times, FONY! That whole “dance monkey dance” caption in your signature always cracks me up.
lennonluvr9 Heheh – well, practice makes perfect! And
you’re welcome!
Update: Due to a revolving and upcoming course of events
that has my head spinning and my brain working as fast as possible on a few things, I haven’t even
started construction on chapter ten yet. Henceforth, don’t expect to see an update
in chapters anytime soon.
Just keeping you all posted.
Well thanks for that! I was afraid that while I couldnt
get into the site for the past week that I was missing what was going on in these fics I’m reading but as it
turns out, I guess I’m not!
Haha – yeah, things have been a little slow lately. (snigger)
Update: One of the “events” that I previously mentioned above has
now ended, so I have more time to write stories after I finish doing a few things.
I have actually
started a rough, paper-scratched draft of chapter ten. Thank goodness I got that [i]"Art of
Ratatouille"[/i] book when I did – it has inspired me to get back into writing again.
I
have also borrowed the novel The Hunchback of Notre-Dame from a fellow neighbor, so
reading it will help me get back “into the act” as well. I’ve only read the introduction to this
French classic and I’m already entranced! Books are art: You can’t help but find yourself engaged in their
almost hypnotic-like quality of creativity and imagination…