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Series One Episode Fifty-One It was a perfectly average day in Gyanda Gavelio's shop. She'd found several bargains and was making a steady profit - and when her latest treasure sold, she'd nearly double her day's take. It was a gorgeous old fireplace, classic brick, the kind of hearth you see Christmas stockings hung on. And she'd actually found it at Mika and Carassa's garage sale, meaning it had been dirt cheap. Her business instincts kicked into gear. So now it was in her shop, and with no small price tag, either: thirty thousand NP. Sure enough, a customer came in and went straight for it. "Wow, this thing's gorgeous! I'll take it! Do you take bank checks?" "Of course." The girl with golden-brown hair (held down rather artlessly with a baseball cap) eagerly pulled one out, wrote the amount, and signed it. Gyanda looked it over, then noticed the username: 'scormans_unite.' "What's a scorman?" she queried. "Glad you asked," came the cheerful reply, and Gyanda found a pamphlet thrust into her hands. "An oppressed and persecuted minority, for starters. Read this, then neomail me if you want to learn more." "If you ask me," said Abira Anion conversationally, "all scormans ought to be shot." "If you ask me," Dr. F. Sloth replied, "you ought to get your feet off of my table." Abbie let out an exaggerated sigh and rocked her chair forward, swinging her legs around so that a total of six feet were on the ground agai. "Why do you have this table anyway? You never struck me as the type who'd be interested in fine dining." "It's in case I ever need to do any high-class entertainment," snapped Sloth sarcastically. "Back to the topic at hand . . ." "Right, right." Abbie folded the brochure in her hand into a sloppy paper airplane and tossed it back across the long table to Sloth, who caught it expertly. "So this sailor, who we know is a scorman, is engaging in this little campaign to spread tolerance and diversity and whatnot. Why do we care?" "It's a matter of honor," Sloth explained, then rolled his eyes. "Or rather, revenge. Remember when she shot up my ship?" "Ooh, yeah. And we had to do an emergency teleport to get rid of her. Never did manage to sell those scales." "Exactly. So it would be unwise to go after her again ourselves. But with this little campaign, she's making herself visible. All we have to do is hand this off to another party with interest in scorman-hunting." "And then what? It's not like she put her username on this." "Yes, she was discreet to that extent. But we know where she lives." At that same moment, at the Neohome in question: "You bought a fireplace?!" asked Melony incredulously. "Well, why not?" replied her roommate, nonchalantly setting her armload of wood down in the iron frame next to the fireplace, which was now installed in the wall of the living room. "Why not? First of all, we have central heating. Second, we have perfectly adequate lighting. Third, we don't have a fireproof house! What if it burns down?" "Oh, come on. I'll be careful! I did a little research on fire safety. And besides, I'm a scorman. We like fires. Central heating . . . it just isn't the same." Melony sighed. She'd just gotten back from football (that's "soccer" to you Yankees) practice; she was tired, hot, sweaty, and in no mood to argue. "Look, I'm gonna go change. We'll find out what Naomi and the pets think at dinner, and then make a decision." She stalked up the stairs, passing little Scormans_Unite on the way down. The young Scorchio spotted the fireplace, andh er eyes widened excitedly. "Are we gonna have a fire, Mommy? Are we?" "That we are, 'Nite! Just as soon as Luplee gets home, because he's bringing matches." "Coolies!" Melony sighed and closed the bedroom door behind her. "I don't believe this," groaned Abbie. "I'm picking around this stupid back alley with a grundo guide looking for this stupid guild . . ." "For the seventh time," said the tall, lean, purple grundo who was leading her. "Shut. Up." "And why should I? You know I'm right. Stupid Scorman Hunters Guild." "It pays to be somewhat secretive when you're in that sort of business. The guild's private. You get in by invitation or you don't get in at all. It's only sensible." "So why have you be the one who chats up a member and earns the invite? Why not me?" "You couldn't be polite long enough," replied the grundo acidly. "Shows what you know. If I'd wanted, I coulda had a Guild rep wrapped around my little finger." This time her guide didn't bother responding. Within a few minutes they'd reached a rather small and dingy building at the end of the Haunted Forest-area alley. The grundo knocked. Slowly and with just the right amount of dramatic atmosphere, the door creaked open. "Who is it?" "Name's Gomorrah. My, ah, owner here and I got an invitation . . ." The grundo held up the crumpled yellow guild invite. A burly Zafara spread the door open and inspected the invite. "Come in," he said after a short pause. The interior of the guild building was fairly average, with the exception of a few rophies on the walls above the heads of the members. Standard hunting trophies . . . . . . except that they were human heads. Abbie did a double take. No. They had horns. They were scormans. Smothering her misgivings, she restored her carefully crafted appearance of bravery to the point of indifference. When Naomi got home, Ko-Kira had rearranged the couches around the fireplace and was tossing small, thin boards in. The paper that she'd started with (last week's newspaper - the foreign news section) had caught the flame easily, but the log in the middle hadn't done more than smoulder. "Hey, this is kind of nice," said the older sister, sitting on the Ultranova Sofa in front of the flames. "Cozy." "Glad you like it," replied Ko-Kira cheerfully, feeding the fire a few more scraps of wood. Luplee - relaxed on one of the other couches (well, really a Chokato Chair) - turned over to warm his other flank. "It is quite nice," he said primly. "What do you need it for?" demanded Melony, entering from the kitchen. "You're painted Christmas. You have a coat." "Chill, sis," Naomi shot back. "It's your night to make dinner. How's it coming?" "Cheesy asparagus and crispy roast duck neck. Ready in five minutes." Melony looked up the stairs and called: "Moe! Come give me a hand here!" She returned to the kitchen, and a few minutes later Moehog374 clomped down the stairs and followed. Naomi, meanwhile, saw her chance and milked it. "Boy, this is a good fire," she said, a little too loudly. "Nice and toasty. It's not even that cold out yet, but this feels really nice." "Shut it, Naomi!" yelled Mel from the kitchen as the doorbell rang. So it wasn't until the second ring that the girls and pets heard it. "I'll get it," said Ko-Kira cheerfully, putting the poker back on its hook and heading for the hall. A minute later there was a slam and the sound of Frost Cannon fire. Everyone jumped, tensing by reflex - but the girls acted quickly. "Moe, watch the food!" cried Mel as Naomi directed Luplee to mind the fire. The two sisters then sprinted for the door, gripping their henshin pens. "So why do we take them alive?" asked the shadow mynci, who along with the burly spotted zafara was lugging the frozen Ko-Kira down the path to the waiting bicycle-drawn cart. "value," the zafara replied. "It's like flowers. You want to cut them as late as possible - under running water if necessary - to keep the flowers fresh for as long as possible. Scorman scales are the same way." "You have to cut them off under running water?" The zafara rolled his eyes. "You know what? Never mind. Let's just load this one up, and . . ." "Wocky Pounce!" "Moehog Kick!" The ball of fuzz hit the zafara in the back, and the hoof hit the mynci; both let go of Ko-Kira as they fell forward. "What th--?" Then they each found a foot pressing down on the smalls of their backs - one booted, one in an anklet. "Identify yourselves," said Sailor Moehog sharply. "Now." The mynci under Sailor Wocky's foot let out a little squeak, but the zafara got angry. "And who are you to be asking me that?" he shot back. "Dude, you just tried to kidnap my pal. I don't think you get to ask any questions here." "'Pal'? You do realize what she was, don't you?" "What the slorg are you talking about?" "She wasn't human. But she wasn't a pet, either." "Well, duh. She's a scorman. So?" "That doesn't bother you at all?" "Should it?" snapped Sailor Moehog. The zafara was momentarily startled, but dropped the pathos angle in favor of simple rationality. "What it means, little girl, is that we, as members of the Scorman Hunters Guild, have perfectly legal license to hunt this and any other scorman." "Shooting her at the door of her own house! How is that legal?" Sailor Wocky cut in before the zafara could answer. "He's stalling." "For wh--" Sailor Moehog was muffled as her sister pounced to shove her out of the way of a Frost Cannon beam. "Probably for them," theorized Wocky as a striped kyrii and a blue scorchio, both wielding Frost Cannons and Guild badges, strode forward out of the early-evening shadows. The zafara and mynci rose and stood over the frozen Ko-Kira. Moehog and Wocky got to their feet and stood back to back, moving slowly as the cannons were still trained on them. "You're vile," spat Moehog. "Kidnapping - freezing an innocent user - working for Sloth--" "Watch it," snapped the kyrii. "Ye may disagree with us, and ye may be one o' them silly superheroes, but ye've got NO right comparin' us to Sloth." That bit of information caught both sisters by surprise. "You mean," said Sailor Wocky, "Sloth didn't tell you about . . ." "That man ahs nothing to do with us. Awfully nasty of you, comparing us to Neopia's worst enemy," hissed the zafara. "Then this is just a matter for the police to handle," Moehog mused out loud. Suddenly a volley of rainbow flashes hit the group, two of them taking out a pair of Guild members. The sailors barely dodged others - not sure who the Rainbow Gun was aimed at, as the aim was pretty bad either way - but then took their chance and took out the other two. They then looked warily into the darkness for their unexpected helper. 
A very frail-looking young man, nervously clutching a Rainbow Gun, walked forward slowly. In a lumpy brown sweater and faded brown pants, he had mousy brown hair, large glasses, and a fairly shapeless hat, which he took off as he approached. He also, it turned out, had a small red horn. "Is that Ko-Kira?" he asked quietly, gesturing at the frozen form. "She is," replied Wocky. "I heard about her th-through her pamphlet, and I wanted to come s-see her, but not in b-broad daylight . . ." The sailors exchanged glances. "She'll be glad to see you," said Moehog at last. "Let's go inside." Moe had neomailed the police, so Naomi made coffee and they sat around the fire while waiting for the cavalry to arrive. Realizing that the new scorman (who introduced himself as Paul) would be unlikely to seek media attention, money, or fame, they let him in on their secret identities. Ko-Kira was wrapped in blankets on the Ultranova Sofa, with her pets Luplee and 'Nite curled up beside her and Naomi's pet Lu_pe88 tending the fire, when Naomi escorted two Chia Police officers in. The testimony they gave was only slightly modified. The Sailor Neopets had shown up and knocked out the perpetrators; the sisters had watched from their front porch, and could give a detailed blow-by-blow script of the events. (Melony, the sporty one, handled this bit.) Paul had been visiting Ko-Kira; she quietly explained from her huddle of blankets that she couldn't bear witness to the struggle but had never acted violently in defense of Scorman rights. "You know what we should do?" remarked Melony testily when the police left. "What?" asked Ko-Kira, shivering. Paul cast a worried glance at her. "Take this public." "Meaning . . .?" Melony smacked a fist into her palm angrily. "Meaning we don't just let this pass! Campaign. Get the word out. I mean, prosecute these pets to the fullest extent of the law, and make it a public affair! Let the media know. Popular opinion'll be on our side! We can really get the scorman rights movement, well, moving with this!" Ko-Kira stared. "I thought you didn't care that much . . ." "Dude, you just got kidnapped and frozen and almost killed. This calls for action." The scorman girl grinned, though still a bit weakly. "Excellent." She turned to Paul. "How about you? You wanna help?" The bespectacled brunette looked inordinately frightened all of a sudden. "I just . . . wanted to see if I could help you in . . . some behind-the-scenes way," he said quietly. "Like writing neomails. I don't think . . . I mean, in something this big and public . . ." "We might still need that sort of thing," Naomi pionted out, stepping into the conversation. "Paper-pushing, organization . . . Think we could count on you for help in those areas?" "You too?" asked Ko-Kira, looking at her best friend's older sister in further surprise. "I could do that," said Paul slowly after a moment. They'd all finished their coffee by then, so Melony, Naomi, and Moe gathered the mugs and took them back to the kitchen. Luplee snuggled closer to Ko-Kira protectively, and she detangled a hand from the blankets to scratch his head. "Still don't remember me, 'Lee?" she asked a little sadly. "Don't need to," the Christmas Lupe replied gruffly. "I know you now. And if we start something that'll help protect you, you can count me in." |