School House Rocked
by: The Lauderdale
The Voice's eyes narrowed as she glared at the wall and the taunting bull's eye on it she had made with magic marker a few minutes ago. She stood, carefully poised, feeling the firmness of the rubber ball in her hand. Focusing, she took a step back. Abruptly her arm cracked forward and the ball shot against the wall-
-completely missing the bull's eye and ricocheting back around the room. Megavolt yelped as it hit him in the head. Luckily his sparkplug helmet served as some protection, but the super villain still wasn't particularly pleased. "Can't you do that somewhere else?" he asked. The ball rolled against his foot and he picked it up.
"Sorry," said The Voice sheepishly.
"I'm really trying to work here," he said, tossing it up and down in his hand. "It's very hard to concentrate under the constant threat of a head injury." He threw her the ball.
She caught it. "I'm really sorry," she said. "I guess I just don't have anything to do."
"If hitting me in the head is your idea of something to do, then I wish you really didn't," said Megavolt.
The Voice sighed. Since their little escapade at the Opera House the other night, Megavolt had come down with a severe case of Mad Inventor's Syndrome. He had begun with the intent of repairing a broken microwave…and gone on to spend the past forty-eight hours feverishly toiling on his new "baby." As for what "Baby" was going to be, The Voice had no idea. At the moment it looked like a small UFO on wheels.
"When are you going to finish?" she asked abruptly.
"Huh? Oh. Once I find those old chopper parts," he responded vaguely. "Hey, can you pass me that?"
The Voice looked at what he was pointing at (an electric mixer) and picked it up. She went and handed it to him, then wandered over in the direction of the TV. In front of it was a grubby-looking red beanbag that she'd scrounged up the previous evening. It smelled to high heaven but was at least furniture of a sort, into which The Voice now sank. An instant later she was up again with a cry of pain. She picked up the white plastic spork she had just sat on, examined it a moment and then threw it aside, muttering something unprintable.
Seating herself a little more gingerly this time, she looked at the gray screen of the silent television set in front of her, silently contemplating turning it on, but then deciding against it. This, she thought to herself, was one nasty time of day. You couldn't sleep and it was too early to go on a crime spree. And nothing decent on TV, either. She wished she had a comic book she hadn't read already.
"Lord, am I ever bored," The Voice muttered to herself.
"Hoo hoo hoo HOO!! IIT'S ***PLAY***TIIIME!!!!" A blur of purple and red bounded into the room and smashed into the television set.
The Voice yelped and fell backwards as she tried to avoid the sparks that showered down on her. The back of her head hit the floor, making her see stars. "Hhh…." she hissed, sitting up and leaning forward.
"Hey, who-?" Startled by the voice coming from overhead, she looked up and, because the intruder was bending over her, accidentally smacked her forehead against his chin. He cried out and staggered backwards a few steps before landing hard on his backside. The Voice brought a hand to her forehead and scrambled awkwardly to her feet.
"Oh great," she heard Megavolt mutter from behind her. "Not again."
"Again?! What is that thing?!" demanded The Voice, backing up till she was standing next to him and staring all the while at the intruder.
"Remember me telling you none of my TV sets lasts for very long? That "thing" is the reason why," said Megavolt, sounding annoyed.
The "reason" had stood now and was awkwardly feeling his chin. He was a duck clad in a harlequin-patterned jester's outfit, complete with a huge, currently lopsided Renaissance collar, which, having found no important injury to the lower portion of his enormous beak, he now adjusted. "Owww…." he said accusingly, giving The Voice a dark look.
Megavolt folded his arms across his chest. "Quackerjack, what do you want?" he asked.
The jester ignored him. "You shouldn't be here. Who are you?" he demanded, pointing at the tall brown avian in the long tan-colored trench coat.
"I'm The Voice," she said, glaring back. Her head was throbbing and she had the feeling she was going to be developing two very large and unpleasant lumps where she had hit it.
Megavolt sighed. "Voice, this is Quackerjack. Quackerjack, The Voice." He turned and went back to fiddling with his invention.
The dark look had left Quackerjack's face when she had said whom she was. Now he looked incredulous. "The Voice? You're The Voice? I thought The Voice was-"
"Yeah, I know, a guy, whatever," she said, walking past him to fall into her beanbag again and nurse her head in her hands.
"Well, yeah, but aside from that," Quackerjack said, following and standing over her.
"Huh?" The Voice blinked up at him.
"Huh, what?"
"Aside from what?"
Quackerjack scratched his head. "Aside from what, what?"
"It's no good trying, Voice, you're not gonna get any more sense out of him than that," Megavolt said as he tinkered with the device he was working on.
Quackerjack turned and stuck his tongue out at Megavolt, then returned his attention to her. "Hey, if you're really The Voice, prove it," he said, sitting on the floor in front of her.
"Prove it?" she said, rubbing her head.
"You know. Do somebody."
Now that just sounded *wrong*. It took her a couple seconds to try and work out what the heck he meant. "Impersonate someone, you mean?"
"Sure," said Quackerjack.
She shrugged. "This is Tom Lockjaw reporting to you LIVE from the Audobon Bay Lighthouse, where authorities have just discovered the secret hideout of-"
"AAACK!!" Quackerjack actually looked around for a couple seconds, genuinely spooked, before realizing it was in fact her. "Stop, stop, I'm convinced," he exclaimed, throwing up his hands. Then he looked at her more closely, curious. "What are you doing here, anyway?"
The pain was starting to dissipate somewhat. "Um, I needed a place to hide out from Darkwing Duck. Megavolt's putting me up for awhile."
Quackerjack silently mouthed the word, "Oh." He then sent a knowing glance from her to Megavolt and back again, which neither happened to catch, luckily for him. As it was, he gave a long, high-pitched giggle, making The Voice stare at him oddly. She had a feeling this guy was going to get on her nerves before long.
"Quackerjack." Megavolt, who had been trying to ignore the two of them, gave up and addressed his associate in exasperation. "What do you want?"
In a flash Quackerjack was on his feet and had bounded over to Megavolt. "Oh man, Sparky, you would not believe it but I have the GREATEST idea for a caper…."
"Oh HAPPY day!" Drake all but sang as he washed the dishes.
"Well, you sure sound like you're in a good mood," remarked Gosalyn.
"And why shouldn't I be? I have a lead!" her dad said joyously.
He'd come back the night before last, miserable and perturbed at what he knew all the papers and news channels were going to tout as his latest faux pas. Going after a criminal like The Voice for ages and not even perceiving her correct gender?! Even Gosalyn had been incredulous.
"You mean The Voice was a girl all this time? Geez, Dad, how did you manage to make a mistake like that?!"
"Well, I just assumed he was-I mean, she-"
"You think the only people who can beat you have to be guys? Man. My dad the chauvinist," she had muttered under her breath.
He had responded in typical Darkwing fashion, stomping around, making short, surly responses to anything anyone said and putting off officially filing his report on what had happened at the Opera House, and his discovery there, with the police until late the next day. By that time he knew the story had spread anyway and if he put it off any further it would be obvious he was hiding something. Going into the St. Canard Police Headquarters that evening, it was all he could do to stand the smirks and sniggers he felt being directed at him. Commissioner Garret had made no effort to contain his amusement at the entire situation.
"Yeah, laugh it up, fat boy," Darkwing had muttered as he stormed out of the station. It was so unfair. After all, the cops had all assumed The Voice, and before that, the Strip-Mall Mall-Stripper, had been a guy as well. And yet it was he, the Terror that flaps, who ended up with egg on his face.
"Excuse me-"
"Yeah, yeah, so he was a she, alright?!" Darkwing growled, trying to push past the young woman he assumed was a reporter.
"Oh, please, Mr. Darkwing, if I could just have a few moments-I think I may have some information for you in connection with The Voice."
He had stopped, turned slowly. "Really?"
"She said her name is Cynthia Barker," Drake told Gosalyn now as he scrubbed at Launchpad's little bowl with the teddy bear design around the rim. "She's a freshman at the University of Saint Canard and she has an internship at the St. Canard Opera House. She was working as one of the House's technical crew the night of the performance. While she was backstage she noticed a girl she recognized as an old classmate from her Theater course in high school." He stopped scrubbing and stared at the bowl. What the heck had his sidekick been eating that was so hard to clean? He wondered if there happened to be any sandpaper lying around….
"The Voice?" asked Gosalyn.
Drake nodded, giving up the bowl as a lost cause and setting it in the dish rack. "Barker was going to go over to talk to her, but before she got the chance the performance began. Of course it was during that time me and The Voice had our confrontation, and that was when Barker realized her old school chum was none other than the nefarious ne'er-do-well."
"Wow," said Gosalyn, looking very impressed.
"Yep yep yep, Darkwing is on top again," said Drake, puffing himself up a little as he turned off the tap.
"No kidding. You were pretty darn lucky to run into a good witness, weren't you?"
Drake deflated slightly. True, it really had only been chance, his finding (or rather, being found by) this lead, but-"She actually tried going to the police when she realized, but they just brushed her off."
"Why didn't you?" Gosalyn asked.
Her father wiped his hands on the dishtowel. "Because she had an excellent little piece of evidence on hand," he said, walking over to the counter and lifting down a large hardbound book, which he held up for Gosalyn to see and tapped meaningfully. "Her high school yearbook."
"It's got The Voice's picture?"
"Yeee-ep."
Gosalyn gave a whistle of appreciation that warmed Drake's heart. "That's really cool, Dad. So now what?"
"Well, now I follow up. It was too late to really do anything last night besides make a couple calls. Apparently our vocal villain has a twenty-four year old brother who lives not that far from here. Me and LP are going to head over and talk with him, just to get the ID confirmed."
"So, you've probably got a pretty nice day lined up for yourself, huh?"
Drake hadn't missed Gosalyn's sly grin. He raised an eyebrow. "And following that obvious cue, it doesn't look the one you've got ahead is too shabby either. Now why might that possibly be? Hmm…demolishing a small country this afternoon?"
Gosalyn laughed. "Nuh-uh. Assembly."
"Oh right, that little school assembly you've only talked about for the past two weeks." Drake rolled his eyes.
"Yuh-huh. I'm gonna be reading my essay I did for English. On the "Vengeance of the Blood-Sucking Mutated Zoooooombie Slugs From the Planet Ferbilax"." She rubbed her hands together in gleeful anticipation. "Finally-I'll be able to see that this great cinematic masterpiece is appreciated the way it should be."
"And I'm sure the enthusiasm with which you approach your cause is completely uninspired by any personal love of the spotlight," Drake remarked dryly.
Gosalyn put a hand to her heart and stared at him with wide eyes. "Oh Dad, how can you wrong me so?"
Drake opened his bill but was interrupted by the sound of a knock at the front door. "I'll get it!" came Launchpad's voice. They heard him answer the door. "Hiya, Honk-man."
"Hh, hello, Mr. McQuack. Is, hh, Gosalyn here?"
"Hey Honk, be with ya in a sec!" yelled Gosalyn, abruptly putting her bowl to her bill and guzzling the last of her cereal down, then leaping to her feet. "LaterDadgottagohopeyacatchTheVoiceseeyabye-"
"Now wait just a minute, young lady, if you're going to be speaking in front of a school assembly are you sure you should be wearing-"
Launchpad stood in the doorway. "Uh, who exactly are you talking to, DW?"
"'Bye, 'Pad!" As she called out, Gosalyn was already out the front door.
"Oh, just the Gosalyn-shaped blur, LP," Drake sighed.
"Say it."
"No!"
"Come on, you know you wanna."
Megavolt curled his lip in a snarl at Mister Banana Brain's leering grin. "You're always doing this to me. Why can't you just leave me alone?"
"Because you're wrong and I'm right, Dwight."
Quackerjack sighed. "He's not gonna shut up until you say it, Megavolt."
The Voice looked rapidly back and forth between the two of them, then at the puppet in Quackerjack's hand. It was strange enough watching the two insane super villains arguing with each other-when the stuffed fruit started in, that's when she'd really lost track of the conversation. All she could do was stare at its empty plastic eyes and frightening toothy smile--repulsed, and yet at the same strangely fascinated.
"I don't get it," she said at last, completely bewildered. "It's a banana."
"Yeah, and it's gonna be a fried banana in a minute," growled Megavolt, starting to charge up his hands with electricity.
The puppet jeered at him. "Oh yeah, use the threat of violence when you can't think of anything else to say. That just proves it."
"Hah!" said Megavolt, but he lowered his hands.
"Megavolt," The Voice said again in a disbelieving tone, "you're losing an argument to a banana."
"What, do you have something against fruit or something?" the banana in questioned demanded testily as Quackerjack made it turn towards her.
She threw up her hands in a gesture of denial. "No, no, not at all. In fact, I find it…positively scrumptious," she said, looking at the obnoxious puppet meaningfully.
Mister Banana Brain gave a most satisfying squeak. "Eep!"
Quackerjack stuck his inanimate companion behind his back. "Now see what you've done? You've hurt his feelings."
The Voice shrugged and settled back comfortably in her beanbag. "I still won."
"I need to remember that tactic," Megavolt muttered to himself. He shook his head. "Let's get back to what we were talking about before. Uh." He suddenly looked blank. "Wait a sec." He fell silent. Quackerjack and The Voice waited. "Lemme think-"
"Don't hurt yourself," muttered Quackerjack, giggling.
Megavolt glared but let it pass as he remembered his question. "Tell me again-I understand the what and the how, but why are we doing this?"
"Simple, Simon. You get to free all the light bulbs you want, I gain a couple hundred new playmates, and we split any money we get in exchange for the hostages." Quackerjack grinned, rubbing his hands together. "Oh, I am sooo good."
Megavolt nodded. "Fair deal. Ok. I'll take it."
"We each get a third, right?" asked The Voice.
Quackerjack turned to her. "You want in?"
She shrugged. "I'm not sure it's such a great idea-"
"It's the best idea, fatso!" chimed in Mister Banana Brain from behind Quackerjack, peeping over his shoulder.
The Voice gave the puppet a dirty look as she stood up. "-but I don't have anything better to do. Besides." She looked back at Quackerjack a little dubiously. "If you're part of the Fearsome Five and you've fought Darkwing Duck so many times, that means you *are* supposed to be the crème de la crème of St. Canard's villainous underworld. I suppose I could do worse."
"You sure could," agreed Quackerjack.
The Voice couldn't help but wonder, though, exactly how.
Joshua allowed the phone to dangle from his hand a moment while he took a chug of his beer. He then set the can carefully on the counter and ran the back of his hand across his forehead. It came away greasy. The phone had caught him just after the completion of a job in the garage, before he'd had a chance to change. His shirt was plastered to his body with sweat. He didn't mind when he was working, but in the house was a different matter. There, Joshua was a bit of a clean freak.
He stood awkwardly, trying not to give in to the temptation to lean against any surfaces as he put the phone to his ear again. Roger was going off at him about how they were supposed to have met at Alberto's, and blah and blah and blah. Joshua groaned mentally. He was getting a little tired of Roger's thing for pasta. He decided not to say anything about that right now, though. "Look, I'm really sorry, ok? I just have this thing I need to stick around the house for. I did leave a message."
"Yeah, whatever. Creep."
Joshua sighed. He hoped Roger wasn't really annoyed. The guy could be hard to read sometimes when he was in a "mood"-he might be seriously annoyed, but then again, he might not. Then abruptly Joshua's ears perked up. "Listen, I gotta go-I just heard a knock at the front door. That's probably them. Catch you later, alright?"
"Fine." It was kind of a grumble and didn't sound particularly affirmative.
Joshua made up his mind to ignore it. "Good. I'll call you right back, 'kay? You take care." He stayed on just long enough to catch Roger's half-hearted grunt in response, then hung up, glanced down at his dirty T-shirt, made a noise of disgust and went to answer the door.
On the front step, Darkwing knocked again. "Gee, I hope he's here, DW," said Launchpad.
"He told me he would be when I phoned yesterday." Darkwing couldn't think of any reason why he wouldn't. The super hero hadn't given his true reason for seeing the guy, or even his identity, over the phone, only made up something about needing to have an engine checked. Apparently The Voice's brother ran a low-key car repairs business in his garage. Speaking of which-"Besides, the garage is open, so he should be here."
As he said this, the door opened. "Hi. Can I help you?"
Darkwing stared up at the large, burly canine with gray fur and short cocked ears who had answered his knock. "Oh, I'm sorry, I must have the wrong address. Do you know if there's a Joshua Quirk living near here?"
"That's me. You the one who called yesterday?"
"Uh, yeah." Darkwing slipped the yearbook he was carrying from under his arm and opened it to the page he had book-marked, then looked from the photo of The Voice to the large canine in front of him. He was sure there must be some mistake, but-"Do you happen to know a young woman by the name of Heron Quirk?" Darkwing turned the yearbook around and held it out, indicating the photo of a rather plain-looking brown-feathered avian female in a pair of glasses.
"Yeah, she's my sister." Joshua glanced from Darkwing to his sidekick, both of whom he had by this point recognized from the news, and said quietly, "I guess there's no engine trouble, huh?"
"Can we come inside?"
"Oh, yeah, I'm sorry." He made way for the two of them, looking a little distracted as he glanced around outside for a second before shutting the door behind him.
Gosalyn clutched her essay closely, darting suspicious glances at anyone who came near as her class marched for the gym. "Hah. I am sooo ready."
"Hh, good luck, Gosalyn."
"Luck? Luck doesn't have anything to do with it, Honk. It's all in the material." She brought the papers up to her bill for a quick kiss and gripped them again to her chest.
"Hey, lemme see that a sec, Gos," sneered Tank, swiping at it.
Gosalyn jumped back, giving Honker's bully of a brother a dirty look. "You better watch it, Tank. Nobody's touching my baby except me." She patted it and cooed gently, "That's right. I won't let anyone hurt you."
"Third grade, over here. Line yourselves up along this wall." The kids lined up where their teacher was indicating and seated themselves, cross-legged. At the last moment she put her hand out, stopping the young red-haired duckling. "Not you, Gosalyn. You're going to be giving the first recital. I do hope that you give it the same…animated delivery you did in class." Her English teacher only barely hid a smile, which Gosalyn was too excited to notice. She held her essay in her hands, alternately crumpling and smoothing the paper as she waited.
"Lemme at 'em, lemme at 'em…" Gosalyn muttered under her voice.
Principal Farnsworth, who was standing at the podium, tapped the mike gently to get every one's attention. When the gym fell silent, she began. "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome. It gives me great pleasure to present to you the works by our very own St. Canard Elementary students that you will be hearing today. Now as you know, our school has been producing fine young people such as those who will be speaking for over forty years now, and providing them with the knowledge and life lessons that will prepare them for higher-"
Gosalyn, even in her current state, couldn't help but snicker to herself at this speech, especially since one of those fine young paragons of elementary school virtue their principal was speaking of, Tank Muddleroot, was currently scratching himself in an interesting place. The kids on either side of him were scooting away, increment by increment. Gosalyn caught Honker's eye and inclined her head towards Tank. Honker looked at his older brother and lowered his face into his hands in despair. Gosalyn's shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.
"…Gosalyn Mallard."
Everyone began clapping and a startled Gosalyn realized that it was time for her to go up. Getting a tighter grip on her essay, she strode towards the front of the gym.
The principal went on, "Not only is "Vengeance of the Blood-Sucking Mutated Zombie Slugs From the Planet Ferbilax" the most hilarious piece of writing by one of this school's students I have ever read, I think I can be confident in saying that it is one of the funniest comic essays by a person of this age yet written. I hope that you will all agree. Miss Mallard, the floor is yours."
Farnsworth stepped away from the podium and a shell-shocked Gosalyn took her place behind it. She felt her face burning, but her blood was chilled. Numb with horror, she began to speak.
"Either of you want a drink?"
"Uh, no thanks," said Darkwing.
"Got any Koo-Koo Kola?" asked Launchpad.
"Is Diet ok?" Joshua responded, a little nervous, but polite. "Sorry. I don't drink it but I have a friend who does, so I keep a six-pack on hand. Otherwise there's beer or water, if you'd prefer-"
"Diet's fine," Darkwing answered for his sidekick.
There was a green couch located under the window, where Joshua motioned the two of them to take a seat. The super hero did so, scanning his surroundings attentively as Joshua went into the small kitchen. The living room was clean and sparsely furnished, a short bookshelf at either end of the couch and a low coffee table in front. The glassy surface was spotless. Darkwing leaned against the arm at his end of the couch and looked at two pictures resting on the top of the bookcase. The foremost was a photo of a middle-aged avian couple of unknown species. Both bore some resemblance to The Voice, having her pointy yellow beak, brown feathers and glasses: the male was bulky and broad-shouldered while his wife was plump and petite. She had large, pleasant eyes and was smiling. They looked like a nice couple. There was a second gilt-framed picture of Joshua next to a gangly redheaded canine with long thin ears and a sleepy smile.
"One left. Glad you wanted it," said Joshua as he crossed the room to hand Launchpad the can. "Now I know to restock."
"Thanks," said Launchpad.
"Won't you please sit, Mr. Quirk?" asked Darkwing.
"Uh…." Joshua glanced down at the grease stains on his shirt and jeans. "Sorry. I'd rather not sit just now. I was finishing a job in the garage."
"If you'd feel more comfortable changing first. It's only that I'm here to talk to you about your sister."
"Is she in trouble?" Joshua asked.
Darkwing nodded. "You could say so, yes. Have you heard anything on the news recently about a criminal called The Voice?"
He was startled to see that Joshua didn't appear puzzled or shocked. Instead a look of resignation crossed the canine's face. "Yeah. Yeah, I have. Um…." He went quiet for a minute. "I think I'm gonna take that offer and go change quick. I'll be right back down. If that's fine with you," he added in a troubled tone.
"Sure, sure," said Darkwing. He waited until Joshua had turned and headed upstairs before glancing at Launchpad. "Whaddya think?"
"Right now I'm remembering why I hate Diet Koo-Koo Kola," said Launchpad with a shudder, as he started to set the can down with a grimace.
Upstairs, Joshua had closed the door to his bedroom and was leaning against it, breathing deeply. "Oh man, Heron," he said at last quietly, shaking his head. Shedding his grubby outer garments and opened a drawer, he chose a fresh pair of jeans and a cardigan and climbed into them. Scratching his head with a sigh, he headed downstairs again. "Sorry about that," he said, sitting on the edge of the armchair a few yards from the couch.
"No problem," said Darkwing. "Mr. Quirk, what can you tell me about your sister Heron?"
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