When offered the chance to ride shotgun in Dan’s two door Plymouth Horizon, a vehicle that looked like it had been rejected from a scrap convention for not living up to said convention’s high standards, Fel elected to ride on the roof. He said that he felt safer that way.
“How come he gets to play on the roof?” Pinkie whined from the passenger seat as Dan ran his second red light of the day.
“Either he has great confidence that my unparalleled driving skills will ensure his safe passage to our destination,” Dan pontificated, “or he’s so naïve that he thinks I won’t try and throw him off for getting boot marks on my car.”
“I’m not wearing boots,” Fel said. His voice came in remarkably clear despite the windows all being closed and their surroundings being full of angry drivers honking their horns and shouting to the heavens. “I actually prefer to go around barefoot.”
“Really?” Pinkie asked. “That doesn’t seem very safe. Haven’t you ever seen Die Hard?”
Fel blinked, not at all appreciative of where this line of questioning might lead or its metaphysical ramifications upon him. “By the way, I didn’t catch where we were headed.”
“The bakery,” Dan answered flatly. “That way you’ll be able to meet the whole Dan Army in one go and we can keep annoying introductions to a minimum.”
“No worries on that front,” Fel assured. “I’m already quite familiar with your usual associates, so there shouldn’t be any trouble there.”
“Yeah, about that,” Pinkie added quizzically. “Even by stalker standards, you sure seem to know a lot about us, especially if you’ve only been watching for as long as you’ve said.”
Fel shrugged. “Eh. I made my character sheet with a double boost to stats related to perception.”
“I’m 88% certain you’re saying the reference wrong,” Pinkie warned.
“But only for loser nerds who don’t have lives and actually care about that stuff,” Dan argued like a professor correcting his student.
“This coming from a man whose anime DVDs stack higher than he is tall?” Fel countered.
“… Besides, I’m pretty sure Pinkie was just calling you out for being evasive.”
“No I wasn’t,” Pinkie replied plainly. “I was just correcting his word use. I mean, if you’re going to reference something, you might as well not make a dunce of yourself in the process.”
“Or!” Dan began. “Or he’s using these super stalker powers of his to predict you being so pedantic over something so trivial.” Dan made a hard swerve when he saw a mime in the road, but unfortunately the mute freak managed to dodge in time. “Thereby distracting the both of us from the original question of how he knows what he knows.”
Pinkie blinked. “Diabolical,” she awed.
“Thank you,” Fel said with an appreciative grin. “Also, I think I like you guys calling me stalker. Can that be my new nickname?”
“Sure thing, Stalker Freak,” Dan replied, happy to accommodate.
Fel squeed happily. “Eeeee! It’s like I’m already a member of the happy, dysfunctional, and questionably sane family.”
“Hey now,” Dan warned. “Let’s not go jumping the gun.”
“Shark!”
Dan rolled his eyes. “No, I meant gun. Jumping the shark is when you-”
“No Dan!” Pinkie screamed and pointed up ahead. “Shark!”
Up ahead, a group of inconsiderate teens had selfishly appropriated a large portion of the road while they worked on what appeared to be a giant shark made of papier-mâché. Why they were doing this was anyone’s guess; so long as that guess berated the stupid teens for being teens that were also stupid. Dan swerved again, but this time to avoid the poorly placed obstacle.
“Gahr!” he growled in that special Dan way of his as hapless ne’er-do-wells screamed and scattered. He rolled down the window and screamed. “Stupid teenagers. You embody 43% of everything that’s wrong with this country!”
Pinkie rolled down her window and decided to join in the screaming game. “You’re actually only responsible for about 12%, though!” she corrected informatively. “Turns out you guys aren’t nearly as important as you pretend to be, but you still contribute to a lot of pre-existing issues.”
“Ah! My leg!”
Fel narrowed his eyes at the downed teenager. “That’s your own fault for not throwing away your banana peels.” His chastisement was calm and offered with only moderate volume. Fel had no need to raise his voice if he wanted to be heard.
“How do you do that?” Pinkie asked. “Being heard without needing to talk too loudly?”
Fel turned back to look at the carnage his chauffeur had left in his wake. The streets had been littered with pasty paper, even more pasty teens, and errant bits of clothing that had been sent flying in the confusion. No one had been seriously injured. However, the teens who weren’t cowering in fear were now trying to put out the papier-mâché shark, which had inexplicably caught on fire.
More than the disproportionately excessive nature of the damage, Fel was most bothered by his own reactions. As Dan had almost drunkenly swerved his car, Fel had done nothing to mitigate the damage. He failed to cushion any falls, pull anyone out of the way, or even take control and guide Dan’s car along a smoother course. All of this was just so unlike him. More troubling was the fact that his inaction had bothered him so little. He didn’t even have the excuse of deliberately holding back so that he could objectively observe how reactions worked in this universe; although this experience had shown him a lot. He, with no ulterior motive, had chosen not to help those in need, and was not happy about that.
“Hey!” Dan barked. “Pinkie asked you a question.”
“It’s an ability of mine,” Fel said plainly, revealing nothing of his inner turmoil. “When I speak, I can make myself heard by anyone I’ve met, or who is within a certain range. I can make it sound like I’m speaking right into your ear and even drown out other distracting sounds.”
“That sounds amazingly useful,” Dan said enviously, recalling all the suffering and needless hassle that could have been avoided if only society at large listened to him more. “I don’t suppose-”
“Afraid not. It’s just something that I and I alone can do.”
Dan growled. “You’re just saying that cuz you don’t want to deal with the competition!”
Fel blinked. “Also yes.”
“Uh, Dan.”
“Yeah, Pinkie.”
“I thought we were going to the bakery. This is Elise and Chris’ house.” She pointed at the house that Dan had parked in front of.
“Wait what?” Dan looked out his window to confirm that this was, in fact, the home of his oldest friend and frenemy. “Darn it! I guess it’s been a while since I actually drove here. Usually I call Chris to do that for me.”
“So why didn’t you?” Pinkie asked.
Dan thumped his head to his steering wheel. “It’s this guy.” He jerked his thumb upward. “He’s just so… distracting.”
“I have been called worse,” Fel allowed before hopping off the car to the sidewalk. “Let’s see whose home, shall we?”
“Woah,” Pinkie awed at Fel’s bare feet. She stepped out of the car and hurried over to stand beside Dan to lightly elbow his side. “Hey Dan. Dan!”
“Yeah?”
Pinkie snickered and pointed. “You know what they say about guys with big feet, right?”
Dan hummed thoughtfully and pulled out his revenge journal. “Huh. I was certain we’d gone up against bigfoot already. That would have made for a nice, scathing retort.”
“Nah. You just met a yeti that one time you went to Canada,” Pinkie reminded.
“Oh yeah,” Dan said, smiling at the fond memory of unleashing a giant glacier upon the bastard child of England and France. “Good times.”
Fel rang the doorbell. “Hello. Mr. and Mrs. Pearson?”
“Don’t call them that, Stalker Freak,” Dan chided. “Titles like that imply a level of importance that neither of these two has earned.”
Fel turned to look back at the approaching couple. “Between the two of them, they’ve saved your life how many times?”
“He’s got a point, Dan,” Pinkie chimed in. “Besides, Fel’s a stranger. It’s common courtesy to use titles like that for people you haven’t met.”
“I never do.”
“Yeah, but PG 13 swears aren’t exactly what most would call common courtesy.”
“It is in New York.”
Pinkie nodded. “Fair enough.”
Fel pressed his thumb to the doorbell and held it. If the homeowners weren’t annoyed into answering, then maybe the sound would drown out the irritants.
“Hold your horses!” a woman called irritably from inside. “I’m coming!”
“Hehe,” Pinkie giggled and lightly hipchecked Dan.
“Oh fine,” Dan growled as he wrapped a hand around Pinkie’s waist, satisfying her desire for puns.
“Clever,” Fel admitted, and gave the doorbell one last ring for good measure.
“I swear by all that’s holy!” roared the irritated woman. “If you ring that bell one more time,” she yanked the door open, “I’m gonna shove my boot right up you’re – hey Pinkie.” Elise greeted, her earlier ire instantly evaporating upon seeing her best friend. The maroon haired woman wore her signature white shirt and blue jeans. However, she looked a bit disheveled with her clothes creased and her hair in quite the mess. Clearly she’d dressed herself in a hurry. “How ya doing?”
“Eh. Same old, same old.”
“Typical. No standards whatsoever.”
“That bad, huh?” Elise replied, ignoring Dan.
Pinkie giggled.
Fel cleared his throat, bringing all attention back to him.
“Who’s the tall hobo?” Elise asked.
Fel closed his eyes and took long, steadying breaths.
“Oh. This is our new fri-oof!” Pinkie grunted when Dan elbowed her in the gut. “This is our new acquaintance,” she stressed. Dan nodded. “His name is Fel.”
“But I prefer to call him Stalker Freak,” Dan interjected. “Gives people a better idea of what to expect.”
Elise turned a wary eye up at the stranger while he returned her look with an appreciative smile. People fearing him was far easier for the traveler to stomach. It was a welcome island of logic in this sea of insanity.
“Anyway, he’s from another world, like me, but not the same world,” Pinkie explained with unusually high coherence. “He said he wants to hang out with us for the day until something ‘significant’ happens so he can go home,” she added with air quotes. “Whatever that means.”
“Uh huh,” Elise replied skeptically as her eyes trailed up and down the stranger in her doorway. “And what exactly would that be?”
“I honestly have no idea,” Fel admitted. “The scenario varies from world-to-world. So long as I’m here, though, I imagine it’ll be something that’ll attract both the police and the news. Perhaps even a government or two will notice.”
Elise gave an exasperated sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Serves me right for wanting to spend a nice, quiet day with my husband on his day off.”
“Honestly, you’d think you’d learn by now,” chided Dan.
“You know I’ve upgraded the security on my house, right?” Elise reminded with deadly seriousness. “The spot your standing in has no less than five traps that are in violation of the Geneva Convention and I’m ready to trigger them all.”
“Really?” Fel asked, looking around. “I could have sworn there were seven.”
Elise blinked. “Wait. How did you-”
“Oh!” Fel gasped. “My mistake. I guess this Geneva Convention variant doesn’t account for things like piranhas or…” He paused, looked around, leaned forward, and whispered into Elise’s ear, making her go bug-eyed.
The disheveled woman backflipped into the house and pulled out a rifle from… somewhere. “How did you know about that!?” she demanded through gritted teeth. “Not even my boss knows I have one of those!”
Fel shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ve been told I have unparalleled observational skills.”
“Oh yeah?” Elise replied threateningly and adjusted her gun to aim downwards. “Do these skills of observation tell you where I’m aiming?”
Dan and Pinkie hissed in sympathetic pain.
Fel, however, remained as casual and unimpressed as ever. “Yes. Also, my sense of smell tells me exactly what you were doing before I interrupted.”
Elise bore her teeth. “Now what are you getting-”
“Elise,” a man called from deeper in the house. “Are you coming back to bed? Tell them to go away. The, um, chocolate’s starting to cool.” His words hung in the air, leaving a terrible, awful silence in their wake.
Elise’s cheeks reddened as she continued to keep her aim steady, even in spite of Pinkie’s giggle snorts. “Not. One. Word,” she said to Fel.
“Psst. Hey Dan,” Fel whisper spoke to the irritated little man. “Of the five of us, guess how many are wearing underwear.”
Not wanting to disturb her husband, Elise quickly turned her gun away to screw on the silencer. Realizing he’d probably hear that, anyway, she fished out a remote from her pants and turned up the dial. The formerly barely audible jazz music from the couple’s bedroom had been dialed up to near deafening levels. That, Elise hoped, should keep Chris occupied while she dealt with this annoying security risk. Five seconds later, when everything was where it should be, Elise retook her aim at… Dan and Pinkie?
“We surrender!” Pinkie cried, throwing up her hands.
“Where’d he go?” Elise demanded, looking around the living room to find nothing.
“Don’t ask us,” replied Dan as he and Pinkie stepped into the home. “It’s not our responsibility to keep track of people you intend to shoot.”
Elise would have told Dan off, but she couldn’t exactly argue. She might also have kneecapped the little SOB, but Pinkie was standing right there. Instead, she chose to survey the immediate vicinity for possible hiding places. Considering half of those had been booby-trapped with non-lethal anti-Chris-trying-to-hide-food-where-it-doesn’t-belong devices, and none of those had been tripped, that narrowed the list of viable spots by a significant margin.
“Psst,” Fel whispered again.
Elise spun around, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound.
“Regarding the underwear thing,” he continued. “It’s actually no one. No one on this property is wearing any underwear.”
“That is not a mental image I needed,” Elise grumbled.
“Hey!” whined Pinkie.
“I was talking about Dan!”
“Well same to you, bucko.”
Pinkie then tapped her chin in thought. “Hold on a sec. Just how do you know that, anyway? That seems like a stretch for even freaky stalker standards.”
“How do I know who isn’t wearing underwear in this house? Simple,” Fel remarked plainly. “I do the same thing as anyone else seeking an answer to this, the most pertinent of questions.”
“Dammit,” Elise hissed as she continued hunting through her house. “It’s like no matter where I am, he’s always whispering right in my ear.”
“Oh yeah. He said that’s one of his powers,” Dan informed. “I’ll admit, I was a little skeptical at first, but if you’re hearing it too then it’s probably true.”
Pinkie pressed a finger to Dan’s lips. “Hush. I want to hear what he has to say about the underwear.”
Silence fell upon the room. Elise continued her hunt, exercising several sneak rolls, improbable jumps, and other athletic feats commonly seen in cartoon spies these days. Pinkie was on the edge of her seat, so to speak, with her hands held mindfully against her skirt to keep it in place. Lastly, Dan just stood there sulking with his signature I-hate-everything expression. Then, at long last, Fel answered.
“It’s quite obvious, really,” he said matter-of-factly. “I checked.”
Elise came to a dead halt mid-roll, blinking like a deer in headlights. “You… what?”
“I checked,” Fel said again.
“… how?” Dan asked, more curious than angry at the moment.
“Like this.”
The front hems of both pairs of jeans and Pinkie’s skirt were suddenly tugged forward, pulled out a short ways, and allowed to snap back against their owners’ bellies. The movement was small and likely wouldn’t have been noticed by anyone not paying attention. However, Dan, Pinkie, and Elise had all seen their clothing act as though it had been grabbed, even though there had been absolutely nothing there to grab them. Whatever hope the three might have had at just writing off this unusual event as a trick of the mind – or maybe a hot air balloon – was promptly clubbed in the back of the head, driven out into the middle of nowhere, and then buried in a shallow grave when they saw the expressions on one another’s faces.
“Aaaaaaaaaah!”
Alarmed by the sound of three people screaming in his home, Chris rushed out of his bedroom, a blanket tied loosely around his waist and a large spoon covered in chocolate held like a weapon. “What happened? What’s going on?” He demanded fretfully, licking a bit of chocolate from his upper lip as he took in the sight of the three most precious people in his life standing around and screaming. “Dan? When did you get here?”
“Aaaaaaaaaah!”
“That… doesn’t answer my question,” Chris replied, nonplussed. “Honey. You think you could-”
“Aaaaaaaaaah!”
“Okay, maybe not,” the tall, blond, and somewhat portly man acknowledged. Looking at Pinkie, Chris figured he shouldn’t bother getting his hopes up, but figured he had to try anyway. “Pinkie. I don’t suppose you could-”
“Aaaaaaaaaah! Creepy stalker alien is peeping in our pants! Aaaaaaaaaah!”
Chris blinked. “Well, while that is an answer, it just raises more questions,” he assessed with saintly patience. “For one thing, you’re not wearing pants.”
“Aaaaaaaaaah! Up my skirt! Whatever! Aaaaaaaaaah!”
“Aaaaaaaaaah! Also he said he smelled what you and the harpy were doing before we got here!” Dan added helpfully. “Aaaaaaaaaah!”
And then Elise decided to offer her two cents. “Aaaaaaaaaah! I’m going to gut you like a fish and rub literal salt in your wounds, Dan! Aaaaaaaaaah!”
“Well, at least their calming down enough to fight,” Chris sighed. “Small miracles and all that.”
“You really don’t get enough credit for all the garbage these people put you through.”
“That’s nice of you to say,” Chris accepted, “but it’s not that bad.”
“… You’ve waded through literal garbage because these people have asked you to,” he asserted. “I say this in the best possible way, but the loyalty of dogs ain’t got nothing on you, buddy. It’s no wonder everyone depends on you for so much.”
“Oh stop,” Chris dismissed with a slight blush. “They don’t depend on me for that much.”
“Are you kidding? You’re pretty much everyone’s go-to whenever there’s something that needs doing. Whether it’s some wild revenge plot, lifting a couch, or just because someone doesn’t want to be alone. Who else does anyone call but Chris Pearson?”
Bashfully Chris rubbed his arm while his other hand continued holding the blanket in place. “You’re just saying that.”
“That doesn’t make it any less true, and you know it. Really, Dan, Elise, and Pinkie are all lucky to have you in their lives and don’t do nearly enough to show their appreciation.”
Chris laughed. “Well, that’s mighty kind of you to say, but-” The man’s breath hitched when he realized he didn’t recognize the voice of the man with whom he’d been conversing. Likewise, Chris had no recollection of when this man had manifested so close to his practically naked being. He turned to finally face the man now casting a shadow upon his far more diminutive physique. The man looked down upon Chris with an ear-to-ear smirk that made the second tallest man in the house want to wet the blanket. “B-b-b-but…”
“But?” Fel inquired. “You mean…” He grabbed hold of Chris’ blanket while his grin grew to Cheshire proportions.
“Please no,” the patient man pled with reluctant acknowledgment of the inevitable.
“… this one!” With a mighty yank, Fel sent Chris spinning out into the middle of the room, sans one blanket, in front of all the people who were no longer screaming.
Pinkie suffered from a sudden and virulent nosebleed that rocketed her up to the ceiling, somehow whistling like a bottle rocket. She cracked her head on a light and fell back to the floor, where the nosebleed resumed and propelled her along the ground and right out the door into the yard.
“My eyes!” Dan cried in agony, clutching his peepers as they ached with a worse pain than pepper spray had ever inflicted. “They buuurrrn!”
“Mine!” Elise proclaimed as she glomped onto her husband. In her panic, her words had been poorly chosen. Truthfully, she was only trying to shield his modesty with her own body. The result was a tangle of confused and frantic limbs that somehow compromised her own clothing and left them both with their shame on display. Had they been alone, events would have certainly taken a different course from there.
Dan’s screaming doubled in volume when he’d dared to open his eyes to take in the new sound of commotion. Elise and Chris were exchanging grunts and apologies as they struggled to untangle themselves and stand, only to repeatedly make the exact wrong moves that tied them into an ever tightening and revealing knot. At the same time, Pinkie’s nose bleed had finally dissipated. She was, however, still quite dazed with an especially goofy grin on her face as she lay mere inches from Dan’s car.
Fel, meanwhile, remained standing where Chris had once been. He looked out over the carnage he had wrought, studying every minute detail, reading every pained expression, and gave a contented smile. “Much better,” he sighed and turned to face the fourth wall. “All things considered, I suppose this could have gone much worse.”