#wacky writes

Gyro woke to the sound of a soft cry.

He sat up in the darkness, blanket falling off of him and the air mattress creaking as he peered up onto Fenton’s bed. He could make out the dark form of someone on the bed sitting up as well, their dark outline looming over him. “Gandra? Are you alright?”

Gandra swallowed. “Go back to sleep, screwloose.”

Gyro was all too familiar with this. He was intimately experienced with waking up terrified and alone.

Cashier Girl has breakdowns over possibly being a Visitor.

Cat Lady comforts her.

Kitty gets pets.

Roadkill

There’s a dead skunk in the road outside my house. The whole neighborhood reeks.

The street receives a surprising amount of roadkill, at least once a month there’s a new set of guts strewn across the pavement. There seems to be someone in the row of houses that’s intent on hitting as many stray animals as possible, and every now and then I’ll get out and check on the newest addition. More often than not it’s a cat; I have a fantasy of finding a poor kitten still half-alive and saving it, bringing it home and making sure it’s alright.

That’s never how it goes.

The first one I checked on made me hurt the most. It was the first time I’ve ever seen an eye properly droop out of a skull before. Its jaw was broken too, hanging disturbingly wide with a perfect row of white teeth being properly cleaned by a horde of flies. When I drove past the next day it was gone, to my relief. Someone had taken care of it.

My dogs found it in the ditch on the side of the road that afternoon on our walk.

There’s a dead skunk in the road outside my house. The whole neighborhood reeks.

For the record, I did get out and check on it when I first noticed it. We recently began caring for a stray kitten, and I wanted to be sure it wasn’t her. Realistically I knew the beast on the pavement was too big, but the vines of doubt had already wrapped their way around my mind. I didn’t realize what it was until I got too close, until it was too late. By the time I did, the sudden stench had brought tears to my eyes and my body nearly to its knees.

This hit is much more gruesome, its stomach has ripped and there are entrails sprayed across the asphalt. White fur is strained red and wide bloodshot eyes stare up into the sun. Outside of the smell I cannot get too close, I don’t want to be encased in the vortex of flies that have taken interest.

On the highway to the street I live on there’s a raccoon on the right shoulder. A small lump of soft fur that whips in the wind from the cars. A signature striped tail that stretches out behind it. The brief flash of mourning that would hit my heart as I drive past twice a day has now turned into a friendly recognition. “Hello,” I say to the little raccoon. He’s become a familiar face on my drive. I wave.

The dead animal does not wave back.

There’s a dead skunk in the road outside my house. The whole neighborhood reeks.

I am reminded of the skunk every time I step outside, for a week the smell remains. Each time I wrinkle my nose and roll my eyes. Can the skunk not decompose faster? How long until the smell is gone?

Oftentimes when the animals are hit they don’t stay on the road for long, some kind soul stronger than I moves them. That is not the case with the white cat who was hit outside the neighbor’s house. She continued getting flatter and flatter, until all that is left is a streak, a stain. Something no one would know is a cat. Was a cat?

When there is no one in the oncoming lane I drive around the dark mark, out of respect.

There’s a dead skunk in the road outside my house. The whole neighborhood reeks.

I drive around it because it is large, and my bumper is hanging on by a thread.

At long last the skunk is moved, we are free from the sight, from the smell. I can walk my dogs in that direction again without being afraid they’ll get too close. On one of these ventures we walk past the former sight of the slaughter, only to find the smell still hangs in the air around that stretch of street. Plugging my nose, I push the dogs forward.

Five years after the ending of the show, Gyro receives one of his biggest commissions from Scrooge yet. At the same time, a new supervillain in town means Fenton's Gizmoduck duties are ramping up. With both of them busy, it's up to them to make sure the other still takes care of himself. That only grows harder as it eventually begins to put a strain on their relationship.

Omg I forgor to post this yesterday. anyway