Teamwork iS Awesome

by FestOfAmerican

Making Reservations

‘These wonderful children of her imagination, springing from her mind to take on a life of their own.’

The words swam serenely like a school of fish through the inky depths of his sub-consciousness. Engulfed and diffused in each current that whisked him into a new, more unusual vision, the parts eventually regrouped and became whole, except more coherent and prominent than before.

Then he felt the wings again.

A pair of glowing white, feather-coated limbs, belonging to some impossibly large bird, reached out from behind and closed around him, firmly pushing his body against their owner in what was unmistakably a hug. Instead of more feathers, the animal’s torso against his back was covered in a soft pelt. It heaved back and forth with deep breaths and the occasional spastic jerk.

Droplets spattering into his long hair and shirt informed him that it was crying. His head brushed against the neck as he craned upwards, but he was only able to see its lower jaw, pointed horn, and vibrant red hair looming over him. The lips were curled upwards in a smile, but the tears still fell upon him like rain. The horse’s winged embrace inundated him with such warmth and tenderness, the mattress he was laying on felt like an abrasive and cold slab of concrete in comparison.

That, he’d suppose later, what was finally woke him up.

Peeling his bleary eyes open to morning light poking through the closed shades, Craig McCracken yawned and stretched his arms as he lay on his front. One arm shot out over the edge of the bed, while the other swept across the linen surface and into a recently vacated indentation. Turning his head all the way to the right, he could see that his wife, Lauren, was indeed out and about. Through the open door, a symphony of noises hinted at frantic movement downstairs.

Marshalling control of his legs, he swung them over his side of the mattress and hoisted into an upright sitting position. Yawning again and scratching through his dark, shoulder-length mane, Craig looked over at the angled drawing table and chair in the corner of the bedroom; one of several both artists had set up around the house for whenever creative inspiration struck. Smiling, he stood up and walked barefooted to it. The table was cradling an open notebook, and on the current page was a sketch of his newest character; a furred and slender alien male, one sneaker-wearing foot kicked out in front of the other. Clutched in his arms was a crooked walking stick, ending in a twisted knob that stood taller than he, even with his wide-brimmed and lop-sided star hat.

“Good morning, Wander,” his creator addressed that easy smile.

First conceived months before, Craig was already putting him through the convention circuit to generate marketability. His autograph booths and personal website could be found stocked with t-shirts, inked prints and the like, featuring the amicable galactic nomad under the title “Wander Over Yonder”. This independent business model was actually inspired after the one Lauren pioneered for her own franchise: “Milky Way and the Galaxy Girls”. In fact, he remembered that today marked a crucial meeting for her to pitch the dolls to a major distributor. She’d remained tight-lipped about the details for weeks, but she promised to tell him how it went when she got back. The reception for Wander has been lukewarm, but he remained optimistic on the long-term goal of helming a new animated series based on his adventures.

‘She believed and persevered with her idea, and looks like it’s finally paying off. Plenty of time to develop this little guy and his universe while “Foster’s” runs its course.’

On the air, “Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends” was over the hump on its fifth season, and it wouldn’t be long before the husband-and-wife team would be engrossed on production for the sixth, so they used the precious free time they had left to flesh out other projects. Even an extra hour gained from Daylight Savings tomorrow will be put to good use.

‘I think we’ll end it at six, just like “PPG”; leave it behind on a high note, before it gets too stale.’

A loud crash and shouted expletive from the living room below startled McCracken, turning away from the sketch at last and proceeding towards the door. He’d better take a shower and get dressed before going downstairs and helping Lauren find what she’s looking for.

Closing the bathroom door behind him, he undressed and stepped into the knee-high tub. He yanked the curtains shut and turned the combined temperature and flow control handle to a very high setting. The latest cold front to befall the Southland was nothing compared to his native Pennsylvania, but living in LA had spoiled and robbed the cartoonist of that perspective. The massaging triple jet of piping hot water and enveloping steam felt luxurious on his bare skin. He liberally cracked his stiff joints, beads of water streaming through his hair and down his face, pulling at his eyelashes with a heated weight that reminded him of tears.

The dreams suddenly returned to Craig. He stood there motionless in the tub, ignoring the showerhead’s pounding torrent on his skull. Staring light-years into the tiled wall before him, he could see himself in the driver’s seat of a familiar bus, the spindly struts of LAX’s Theme Building, then a magnificent winged unicorn with a garnet mane and tail, its sparkling topaz eyes stared romantically at him.

“Thanks again, Stewie. At least you’ve got a fallback career if Wander clinches your retirement.”

Before he could absorb the mere fact that the creature could speak, let alone her words, his own voice faded in from somewhere over his shoulder.

“Who says I’m retired?”

‘What the heck is going on? I didn’t say that just now, did I?’ Craig’s essence inquired of itself.

He tried to look around and locate the impostor, but his head felt locked in place as if in an unseen vice. Trying to flex his other limbs was just as futile. The cartoonist realized he was not in his own body anymore, but in another that was fundamentally different to his human frame and left him utterly transfixed in this scene.

The female unicorn smiled blushingly then began leaning her head down towards him, eyes smoothly closing and lips puckering. Overcome with revulsion, he pulled away with all his spiritual will, desperate to extradite himself from this living prison.

‘Ugh, horse kissy-face! No, don’t come any closer! Let me outta here! LET ME OUT!’

Like a sprung trapdoor, the earth gave way beneath Craig’s feet. Plummeting too rapidly even for fear to register, the real world came rushing back to him, where he lost his balance on the wet tub floor and fell yet again, his brain manufacturing a Looney Tune-ish *VEEP* sound effect on the way down.

Slamming onto his right thigh and buttock, he lay in a crumpled heap, one foot sticking uselessly out of the tub, the water continuing to pour on him unabated. Craig groaned and clasped his hand on the burning thigh. He shook his head, his scraggy mane smacking him on each cheek, to purge the last traces of the strange hallucination. He then held up his left hand before his eyes, bending his fingers into a closed fist and unfurling them as many times he deemed necessary.

“No more hooves,” he said conclusively, almost calmly in spite of his injury.

That’s what his hands had felt like in the dream; balled shut and fingerless, exactly like a pair of dense horse’s hooves.

“…Okay up there?” Lauren’s distant voice floated in.

Apparently his impact on the second floor had alarmed her.

“Fine, I’m fine!” Craig strained to be heard over the running water and protests of his inflamed thigh. “Be out in a minute!”

Climbing out of the bathtub with some difficulty, he dried himself off with a towel before wrapping it around his waist and shuffling back into the bedroom for some clothes. The cartoonist threw on his signature dark denim jeans and plain black t-shirt. Slipping his feet into a pair of nighttime slippers, he picked himself off the bed for the second time and made his arduous way downstairs.

Craig descended the final step into the living room, which was the epicenter of a huge mess. Couch cushions, pillows, and bed sheets were strewn about. On the coffee table were the abandoned remains of a small junk food buffet for two; a large open pizza box with ample slices covered in waxy cheese, half-empty bowls of popcorn, a plateful of stripped chicken wing bones, and cups of flat soda. Limping forward and leaning towards the middle of the table, he picked up a plastic DVD case that was perched atop of a stack of brainstorming notebooks like some precious idol.

It was a copy of the live-action “Transformers” movie, with Optimus Prime’s CGI head looking out from the cover art. Having missed out on the theatrical release in July due to their work, the two producers decided to have their own release party.

‘Man, we really let ourselves go,’ he thought, impressively surveying the cornucopia of calories and pinching the muffin top bulging over his jeans. ‘It was a good movie though.’

The door to an adjacent room bumped open and Craig turned to see Lauren Faust stepping out sideways, an otherwise comically large pile of paper leaning in from her arms, obscuring all but the one eye she was using to watch her step. Blocking out the resulting twinge of pain, he hurried forward and lifted half the burdensome load off to reveal the fatigued yet beautiful face of his wife.

“Morning, hun,” Faust said gratefully, leaning over the papers to kiss him, to which McCracken had to turn himself sideways to meet.

“Morning,” her husband returned after parting lips then resuming his focus on the papers. “You’re not brining all of this to the meeting, are you?”

“No, they’re not what I’m looking for.” she said, dropping hers into the couch with a muffled thump.

Straightening up to her full height, she exhaled forcefully and flicked the bangs of her long red hair out of her eyes. She observed Craig’s limp as he lowered his half into a kitchen chair.

“I heard the impact from my fabric room. What happened?”

“Oh, I went in for a shower ended it on a slide,” he said, his right hand again rubbed the tender hip and buttock. “It wasn’t serious.”

“Ouch,” she winced. “I’ll find you an icepack to ease the swelling before I head out.”

Lauren turned left and dashed back into her home office, the walls and desk piled high with the various tools of her profession. She pulled open the desk’s junk drawer and began to rummage through it.

“You should probably take it easy on that leg altogether!” she said loudly though the open doorway.

“Will do!” Craig shouted back. “Right after I’ve had my breakfast.”

Obtaining a ceramic bowl and a box of cereal from separate overhead cabinets, he placed them on the table. He then picked up a clean spoon from the drying rack by the sink and opened the fridge. The cooled shelves were mostly empty except for some Chinese food boxes from who know how long ago; another tribute to how busy the two producers had been recently. Retrieving the milk jug with barely one serving left, he closed the door with a snap.

“What’s left to find, the Galaxy Girl dolls?”

“No, they’re already in the car. Just some descriptions and settings for the pitch bible,” Lauren said, followed by another avalanche of papers.

“Argh, I was working on them last night before the movie! They must be close by!”

McCracken’s hand froze then tipped the jug back upright, its contents splashing hollowly. Deserting the dry cereal bowl, he hobbled out of the kitchen.

‘Could they be in one of those notebooks on the den table?’ he thought.

Standing before the unhealthy spread once more, he brushed aside the plate of chicken bones, picked up the first book and flipped through its pages. Finding nothing, he tossed it onto the couch and seized two more. The one on his right had an angled tab sticking out from the bottom edge. He propped it open and discovered the material his wife was tearing the place up for, and beside it, was a rectangular folded letter.

‘What’s this?’

His instinctive curiosity overriding any desire to respect Lauren’s privacy, he titled the top flap open with an index finger to take a peek at the sender’s information. He gasped sharply upon realizing that he’d seen too much. He slipped the letter out of the notebook, stuffing it in a pants pocket and pulled his shirt over the exposed end.

“F-FOUND IT, HONEY!” Craig projected nervously into the dark cave of her office.

Immediately she squeezed her way out again, smiling and holding and an icepack in her hand.

“My hero!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him, forgetting entirely about his injured thigh until the couple found themselves collapsing backwards into the couch, emitting simultaneous cries of agony and alarm.

“Oops, sorry,” Lauren whispered to a groaning Craig, whom she was leaning over on her knees. “Let me get that ice for you.”

She stood back up and accepted the notebook he held out to her. Next, she jogged over to the freezer, plucked rounded ice cubes from a tray, dropped them into the nylon-covered sack and screwed the cap shut.

“Does that feel any better?” she asked her husband after pressing the chilled bag over his right thigh.

“Yeah, thanks,” he answered, replacing Lauren’s hand on the icepack with his own. “Not quite the bedside manner I’d expect, thou-”

Before McCracken could even finish his snarky quip, she swooped in, placing her hand on the back of his head and locked lips again, almost furiously than last time. As their kiss endured, they tilted their heads alternately to take turns breathing, the warm exhales deepening their passion. When they finally broke apart, Faust was blushing and lightly sticking her tongue out at the cartoonist’s face.

“Then if I were you, I’d expect less and give more.”

“Think I can get a prescription for that?” Craig teased back, not one to permit being outwitted.

“You big dork,” his wife said, laughing.

A wayward glance at her wristwatch, however, quickly stowed her senses of humor and patience.

“Oh shoot, I’ve gotta run!” Lauren panicked, rolling back straight and then stepping widely over her husband’s prone legs before heading for the front door.

“If all ends well, I’m buying dinner tonight!”

“Okay,” he called out from the couch, “but no more Chinese food.”

Pausing over the open threshold with the notebook held in one hand and her key ring in the other, she turned back to give him a smug grin.

“I said I was buying, didn’t I? Prepare to be surprised. Ciao.”

And with that, she stepped into the bright midday sunlight and locked the door shut behind her. Craig scoffed and shifted the icepack lower down. In his experience, surprises didn’t tend to be good, so the farewell was probably a hint at more Italian food, which didn’t seem very appetizing either with the dried-out husk of a pizza lying before him on the coffee table.

‘Surprises are meant to be spoiled,’ the cartoonist’s outlook tended to be.

"And speaking of spoiled surprises…”

He reached behind and grabbed the crushed letter he’d found inside the notebook. Flattening it against his palms as best he could, he reopened it completely and began to read the main body of the message.

Friday, October 19th, 2007

Dear Ms. Faust,

We at Hasbro would like to thank you for your continued interest in partnership with our company for the development of your intellectual property: “Milky Way and the Galaxy Girls”. The overall concept of your characters and their world was found intriguing and well received by the executives at our Pawtucket headquarters.

I’m pleased to invite you to a pitch meeting at the offices of our subsidiary, Hasbro Studios, in Los Angeles, California, on the 3rd day of November, 2007, at 2 PM Pacific. This meeting will grant you an opportunity to formally present your materials and ideas for a non-syndicated, direct-to-video animated series based on your “Galaxy Girls”, to myself and several colleagues.

Please arrive at the address listed above 15 minutes prior to the meeting start time, which itself is expected to last a minimum of 2 hours. Direct parking accommodations at the office have been made in advance. Simply pull your vehicle up to the garage entrance and present the attendants with your current, unexpired driver’s license. They will verify your appointment and permit you entry.

I’m looking forward to meeting you and witnessing the boundless enthusiasm you have for the potential of your wonderful characters.

Sincerely,

Lisa Licht
Senior Vice President,
Entertainment and Licensing
Hasbro Inc.

McCracken at last understood why Lauren had been so careful with this information. Hasbro was only the world’s second largest toy company, and to get consideration from the execs for her ideas had to be exciting. Lauren probably insisted on watching the “Transformers” movie the night before as reference for her pitch.

BOOM

A bolt of lightning zigzagged through his head, and a rattling thunderclap followed. The dreams resurged for a second time, more visceral than ever. The scenes displayed on his closed eyelids and were rolling past as if on a high-speed film reel.

‘I’m a pony, in a world full of ponies. I’m driving a bunch of them to the airport because they’ve got a plane to catch, and a TV show to make. It’s a show that my wife began and then left, but she’s still helping them along because she loves them dearly; children from her imagination, springing from her mind to take on a life of their own.’

Craig McCracken was seeing the future, or someone’s twisted portrayal of the future. It isn’t “Milky Way and the Galaxy Girls” that will get green-lighted. Instead, Hasbro plans to ask Lauren what she can do with their “My Little Pony” brand name. This meeting will set her on the path to making something no one’s ever seen before. It’s going to spread like wildfire; just as fast and uncontrollable. Fan works, conventions, even feature-length films are just the beginning. The path beyond 2017 became enshrouded, but signs of “Friendship is Magic” and its followers persisting showed through.

*Crunch-crunch-crunch*

Someone else was in the house with him; someone eating. Dropping the Hasbro letter from his shaking hands, Craig slowly turned his head to the right. At the kitchen table, Lauren’s work papers were gone, and sitting in their place, eating from the bowl of cereal he’d poured for himself, was “somepony” he’d seen in his dreams. The cartoonist’s eyes went wide enough for the whites to surround his brown irises, his jaw falling open like a dead weight.

“P-PPP-PUH-PINKIE PIE?!” his trembling lips managed to say her name as recalled from memory.

The pink earth pony mare blinked, swallowing a mouthful of flakes before turning her head left to stare back. The cartoonist and cartoon character looked at each other for several very uncomfortable seconds before the latter smiled widely and gave a friendly wave.