“ Fourth wall…. Oh! That screen where people watch me? Like how that girl’s writing what I’m saying right now?” Annndddd this is why we called you.
He was used to this sort of reaction by now. Most characters, upon learning of the Wall, naturally tested its limits. He reminded himself to be patient (anger could wait for repeat offenders) and looked up at the half-genie. “Please,” he said, as calmly as one can with a literal siren blaring on their head, “This job is very taxing as is, so I would appreciate you not making it worse.“ And with that, he pulled supplies from his toolbox and got to work, all the while trying very hard to ignore the writer.
“ Oh, sorry!” She apologized quickly, standing off to the side. Yeah, she better be.
The inkblot paused for a moment. Not many folks he met stopped the havoc so quickly. Okay, MAYBE he was less tactful and calm with a few, but still. “It’s… no problem. I’m just not used to doing much work here, really. Speaking of here, where am I?”
And I would like to keep it short, thank you very much.
Well, the first thing your doing wrong if you want to keep it short is your measuring the wall at an angle! If you want a short inspection, measure it vertically!
The Repairman paused at the remark. He turned his eyes back to his measuring tape.
Indeed, it was crooked. The inkblot would even go so far as to think it was sagging. It certainly wasn’t touching the Wall he was inspecting.
The Repairman’s eyes lowered in embarrassment as he adjusted the tape.
“I… I knew that…”
Oh, and also, I’d put that fire out. On your left.
“Oh?” The Repairman turned. A small blaze met his shocked gaze. He quickly hopped off his ladder and produced a ragged, scorched, and overall poorly-aged fire blanket from his toolbox. Throwing it carelessly over the flame, he turned back to Whooves. “I have no idea how that happened. Do you?”
“ Fourth wall…. Oh! That screen where people watch me? Like how that girl’s writing what I’m saying right now?” Annndddd this is why we called you.
He was used to this sort of reaction by now. Most characters, upon learning of the Wall, naturally tested its limits. He reminded himself to be patient (anger could wait for repeat offenders) and looked up at the half-genie. “Please,” he said, as calmly as one can with a literal siren blaring on their head, “This job is very taxing as is, so I would appreciate you not making it worse.“ And with that, he pulled supplies from his toolbox and got to work, all the while trying very hard to ignore the writer.
“Barrels, right. Floating down a gentle stream in a couple’a barrels… Hey, what’s that sound? Sounds like rushing water and impending doom. There’s no waterfalls around here, is there?”
The sound of the rushing water was thunderous now. But not only that, but the water that was seeping through the boards of the barrel was rather worrisome as well,
Roger noted with growing anxiety
as he looked down at his soaked feet.
Though at the other’s words, the frantic rabbit’s head whipped back up again and he stared at the other with wide-eyed incredulity.
“Acoustics!?” The rabbit shrieked, ears shooting straight up into the air. He didn’t dare peek over the edge of the barrel. He didn’t want to know what was coming. Or to confirm it, rather, for he already knew. So instead, he simply shrunk down to await the inevitable. “I kinda would’a preffered to still be on land. At least we would’a died in one piece then! So thanks a lot!” He stomped a foot into the puddle surrounding their feet, crossed his arms, and covered his eyes with his ears. “Let me know when it’s over…” He whined.
The Repairman’s mind raced, not even noticing the rabbit’s worry as he pulled out his oversized toolbox in their already cramped space. He began to dig through it frantically, oblivious to the fact that the extra weight meant more water was seeping into the barrel and mixing with his inky form.
C’mon, c’mon, gimme something!
He was briefly snapped back to his surroundings by the former Hollywood star’s outburst.
“Sorry,” he sheepishly mumbled, "I don’t know why I thought that would comfort you.“
He resumed searching through the chest, resorting to throwing some helmets, boxes of nails, an inflatable pool, and a baseball bat out of the barrel entirely. His eyes brightened as he saw something, and just as he was about to pull it out, he heard Roger blaming him. The splashing and shaking from the stomp didn’t improve his mood, either. He snapped up to face the rabbit, pointing an accusing finger.
“And whose shenanigans exposed us? I didn’t even know you were there till you blew my easy travel!”
Besides, he thought, we wouldn’t have died either way, right? RIGHT?
He shook his (for lack of a better word) head, trying to push those worried thoughts away. It was hard, seeing as there was a more famous and heroic Toon than he breaking down in front of him. He pulled a large blue umbrella out of his toolbox. Picking up and closing the box, he opened the umbrella, creating a makeshift lid.
“Well… at least we have shielding,” he sighed, “so long as we hold on.”
“Barrels, right. Floating down a gentle stream in a couple’a barrels… Hey, what’s that sound? Sounds like rushing water and impending doom. There’s no waterfalls around here, is there?”
“Just a sec. Almost… done…”
The Repairman had been busy pulling the barrel off the lid. That last nail was a bit of a tricky one; he was pretty sure he would need a new hammer after this.
Finally, the nail popped out and the Repairman threw the barrel behind him, riding the quiet current on the lid. The inkblot happily took in a breath of fresh air, and looked around to get his bearings. The foliage was dense on either side of the river, but it seemed to be thinning out as the two went along, being replaced with mist and a dull roar.
The Repairman jumped as he saw what lied ahead, nearly losing his balance on the small disc he had. He suddenly regretted losing what little shielding he had.
“Erm…Would you feel better if I said it was clever acoustics?”
Pinstripe rolled his eyes as he impatiently watched the repairman gear up, he tapped his foot against the ground as his gun remained pointed in the other man’s direction. He was taking proaction but truthfully he wanted this end quickly so he could go back inside.
It was a cold night and the bodyguard forgot to layer up before going out this dark night. He figured that this man was hired by Cortex but usually with these kinds of workers they would be working by day rather than night but he didn’t too much thought into it.
The Repairman had a very hard time seeing through the mask. It was far too bright. He figured it was because the hazardous materials glowed. After all, the surface was a neon green. He sighed, not wanting to feel around the bottom of this sludge.
Oddly enough, though, the light that was currently blinding him was not green. It was a light yellow.
Huh. I guess pollution comes in all colors.
He turned to see if he could at least get a feel for his surroundings. When he turned, the light dimmed, revealing the unhealthy color of the waters around him. He turned back. It was still a blinding yellow over there. The Repairman squinted. If he had a consistent mouth, he would have frowned in confusion. While not wanting to approach it, lest it be his seventh or eighth problem that night, he kept looking into the light to try and figure it out.
Why would it be like…Oh….
Feeling like a fool, he picked up his lost flashlight and continued his search. Before doing that, though, he decided to wave it upwards, as a signal to show to the mobster that he was still there, and doing fine.
The Bodyguard squinted a bit as examined the man before nudging his gun to the direction of where the polluted water was. Letting him slide for now, he motioned for him to hurry. He wanted to make his night shift quick and easy.
“A’right, just hurry up. I’ll be standing here to make shoy yous are doin’ yo’ job” he sighed.
The Repairman nodded gratefully, turning towards his open toolbox.
He dug for a few moments before pulling out a formless SCUBA-like suit, with a long hose coming out of the top. The other end of the hose had a funnel in it. The whole apparatus was beige, and patches could be seen all over it.
The Repairman, funnel in hand, dropped the suit into the water. He then reached into his toolchest again and produced a bike lock. After locking the hose to the toolbox, he climbed into the funnel. A bulge could be seen traveling down the tube as the inkblot got into his suit.
* * *
Down in the depths of what passed for water around Cortex Power, he began looking around for the dropped tools.
“That went well,” the Repairman said to himself. "At least he didn’t ask what kind of maintenance I do.“
The mobster quickly took hold of his tommy gun and aimed it at the stranger, not completely trusting this person since they were already trespassing on private property.
“What are yous doin’ here? I’d make my ans’ah short and sweet if I was yous– unless yous want yo’ brains splatt’ad against the walls here-ah”
The Repairman was quick to put his hands up, dropping his fishing rod into the polluted water.
…Of course. That’s the fourth thing I’ll have to fetch.
The inkbot turned to face his fifth problem. That was certainly an intimidating sixth problem being pointed at his face by the potoroo.
The Repairman nervously looked up to see his aggressor’s face.
“Scheduled maintenance, sir. I came in here just to make sure everything’s fine, but then…”
He motioned towards his former fishing spot.
“…I dropped a few things, and you caught me trying to get them back. So…I’ll just get those, finish the checkup, and be on my way, all right?”
Siblings-a-Fixin' 