Springfield Halloween: Getting a Move On, and Other TV Cliches

My second writing prompt for Springfield Halloween: “So, are the two of you going to break out into song at some point?” Carson, Jake and Elizabeth prepare for a night on the town.

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“For heaven’s sake, get a move on! We’re already late!”

Jake Caster took a second to wonder just how many times he’d heard those exact same words in that exact same Scottish accent over the course of the twelve or so years he’d known Carson Cramer. Once every holiday, at least. Back when they were at school, it had been about once a class period. He had long since gotten used to his best friend being two literal steps ahead of him, trying to walk just a little faster to wherever it was that they were going. Jake was well acquainted with the back of Carson’s head; he could probably draw it with his eyes closed.

Carson surged on ahead and Jake lollygagged behind and watched his back. It was a system, and it worked for them. But Jake was almost sure that this was the first time in the history of their friendship that he was lagging behind because he was being forced to carry a freaking fifteen pound television camera.

“Why did I let you talk me into this?” he wondered aloud to the back of Carson’s head. “I was going to spend the night at home, actually getting things done. Aren’t you always saying that I need to concentrate on my art?”

“No,” the other man replied without hesitation. “Your mother is the one who tells you to concentrate on your art. I’m the one who’s been telling you to get a bleeding social life for the last ten years. What man in his right mind stays home on Halloween, when there are lovely costumed young ladies running about with snacks?”

Not for the first time, Jake was momentarily thrown by his friend’s apparently boundless ability to turn every innocent holiday into an excuse to date someone. “…I’ve never thought of Halloween that way before.”

“And that’s why you’re living in an apartment by yourself,” Carson replied. They finally slowed down to round the corner to the cafe. Carson tossed Jake a wink over his shoulder; the motion made his face twist oddly under the white half-mask covering the right side of his face. Jake would never admit it out loud, but the Phantom of the Opera look worked for Carson like it would for few others. The white shirt and ruffly cravat added drama to an otherwise classic tuxedo, and only someone as ridiculously extroverted as Carson could actually pull off that cape.

Jake forcibly returned his attention to the conversation at hand, mostly because Carson’s ensemble made his own thrown-together ninja outfit seem a little pathetic. “Hey, I have a cat!” he protested weakly. Carson turned back to reply, but Jake already knew what he was going to say, and he was pretty much right, so he capitulated with a sigh and changed the subject. “Remind me again why you don’t have some studio lackey doing the heavy lifting for you?”

It was Carson’s turn to sigh. “Because apparently I’m the only one mad enough to work on Halloween.” The reporter came to a halt outside Stone’s cafe and turned to his friend. He reached out a hand to balance the camera as it rocked with Jake’s sudden deceleration to keep from running into Carson.

For the first time, Jake noticed the dark shadows under the one eye he could see in Carson’s face. The man looked tired. No, more than tired—exhausted. Jake’s eyebrows creased in concern. “The headaches again?”

“Aye,” Carson said softly, and Jake knew that they had to be bad for him to admit it at all. Carson saw his concern and waved him off with studied casualness that would have fooled someone who hadn’t known him inside and out since high school. He probably hadn’t actually slept in days.

Still, now wasn’t the time, and this definitely wasn’t the place. So Jake gave in again, and hoisted the camera to his shoulder with another sigh. “Want to try a spot before Elizabeth gets here?”

“Too late!” a voice said from behind him. Jake turned to see Elizabeth Hollowitz, Springfield’s meteorologist, standing on the sidewalk.

Carson gave a low whistle of appreciation as they took in her appearance, and Jake was inclined to agree, even if Elizabeth still scared the crap out of him a little after their one disastrous date. She looked amazing; the cream-colored dress fit her like it’d been made for her, and her blonde hair was done up in an intricate curly knot thing that Jake had never seen before. If he didn’t know the real Elizabeth, he would have been charmed.

Elizabeth held out a red rose in her hand. “A flower for the gentleman?”

Apparently, Carson didn’t know any better. He stepped around Jake to stand in front of his fellow newscaster with a huge grin on his face. “Well, don’t you just make the right prettiest Christine I’ve ever seen.” He took the flower and neatly tucked it into his buttonhole.

Elizabeth gave him an elaborate mock curtsey. “Why thank you, kind sir.” She straightened with a wink in Jake’s direction. “The station’s due for a ratings pickup. The two shining stars of the evening news winning the couples costume contest should do the trick, don’t you think?”

“That depends on the competition,” Jake replied with a grin.

Carson scoffed. “That coming from the man dressed as a funerary director.”

“You gave me ten minutes to find a costume! This is the best ten-minute ninja costume Springfield has ever seen!”

“Alright, alright,” Elizabeth interceded with an eye roll. “Where are you boys off to?”

“Interviews,” Carson said with a sigh. “I got enlisted for on-the-street.”

She gave him a piercing look. “You mean you volunteered.” When he glanced away sheepishly, she smiled a little. “Well, it hardly seems fair to abandon my costume partner to a night of drudgery. I’ll help you with the interviews, then we can go do something fun with the night.”

Carson opened his mouth to object, but Jake beat him to it. “Thanks!” he said brightly. He hoisted the camera to his shoulder and thumbed it on. “So, our first interview of the evening: Springfield’s star newscaster and mostly-accurate–”

“Hey!”

“–Almost always accurate meteorologist! Carson Cramer and Elizabeth Hollowitz, I ask the question that everyone in Springfield wants to know after seeing you together tonight.” He paused for dramatic effect. “So, are you two going to break out into song at some point? Because if you are, I’m obligated to record it for posterity. And the viewing audience.”

He had to turn the camera off and duck out of the way to avoid Carson’s play punch at his shoulder, but it was worth it to see his friend lose the tired wrinkles around his eyes for a second.

Elizabeth just rolled her eyes again, but this time there was affection there. “Why do I get the feeling I just signed up for babysitting? Come on, let’s go find an unsuspecting citizen to interview.”

“The news never stops!” Carson proclaimed cheerfully, and ignored the groans from his friends as he led them off down the street.

Springfield Halloween: The Pirate Ship and a Horse Named Sid

The first of a series of  Springfield Halloween  writing prompts, which will eventually connect together! The prompt for this one: “Where on earth did you get a horse?”

What’s going on? Check out the Previous Segment over on The Art of Observation!

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“Hey Trudy, can you come out here for a sec?”

Trudy Hainz looked up from the blood-and-guts sundae she’d been preparing and took the opportunity to wipe some very red sprinkles off onto her apron. She glanced around the crowded soda fountain-turned pirated ship, trying to locate the source of the voice, before she realized it was coming from outside on the street. “Saul?”

Her voice was lost in the chaotic chatter of sugared-up customers and the sound of the door closing. “Brian!” she shouted to the closest costumed adult. “Is Saul out there?”

The math teacher straightened his eye patch miserably and gave a cursory look out the door. Trudy watched with interest as her friend’s shoulders froze, tensed, and then settled into that really stressed hunch that they did whenever their owner was about to lie. “Uh…no?”

Trudy sighed and quickly piled some green whipped cream onto the sundae. There was no reason for it to be green, but she’d had it left over, and she had to use it on something. “Tell him I’ll be right out!” With a flourish, she handed the sundae over the counter to Seth Mercury. “One blood-and-guts deluxe sundae!” She looked at the teen closely. “This really, really sugary desert wouldn’t be for Timothy, would it? Because it’s nearly seven o’clock, and he’ll never sleep.”

Seth’s eyes flickered from Trudy’s face to the sundae to the tiny bit of blonde mop just visible over the edge of the counter at his waist. “Uh…no?”

Trudy pretended not to hear the stifled giggle from under the counter and nodded sternly. “Good. Because any wizard worth his salt is wise enough to keep sugar away from hyper seven year olds after nightfall!”

“He’s a dinosaur wizard!” Timothy Green protested indignantly. His adorably ruffled head appeared from where he’d been ducked down behind the counter, giving up his hiding place out of indignation. The headpiece of his dinosaur suit was askew, and Seth straightened it out of habit with the hand not holding the ice cream.

Trudy nodded wisely. “A dinosaur wizard! Of course, I should’ve seen that. Well, Mr. Dinosaur, you better make sure that your wizard there doesn’t give you too much sugar, alright?”

Timothy nodded solemnly. “You bet, Ms. Trudy!”

The woman smiled affectionately and winked at Seth. “Have a good time.” She received a resigned smile just before Timothy grabbed his sitter’s hand and tugged them both out the door.

She heard the little boy’s voice say, “Hey, Mr. P, that’s awesome!” right before the door shut on the cool outside air again.

Interest officially roused, Trudy dusted off her hands again and swung open the counter partition to get out from behind the register. The sound of laughter from her right distracted her for a moment. She signaled to Brian to mind the register for a second and deliberately ignored the panicked look she got in return. “But Trudy–”

She held up a hand to stall his complaints. “No buts! You promised you’d help if I covered for you! If you don’t want to take the register for a couple minutes, then you can go right over and take your turn in the dunk tank!”

Brian was defeated, and they both knew it. With a belabored sigh, he marched over to the counter. Smothering a smug grin, Trudy carefully straightened the ruffle-trimmed bodice of her pirate barmaid costume and gathered up the ends of her full skirt in one hand before turning to see what the noise was about.

The crowd over in the barber shop had lessened for the moment; Mr. B was entertaining a few people in the apple bobbing line with his authentic pirate accent. He caught Trudy’s eye and winked at her. The huge red cockatoo on his shoulder chose that moment to squak loudly, shake out its multicolored tail feathers, and announce, “Awk! Shiver me timbers, matey!”

It still made Trudy laugh, even after three hours of listening to the bird talk. She made her way over to the barber and gave the bird’s head a stroke. “He really is something, Mr. B. A talking bird! You went all out this year.”

Eugene grinned proudly at her. “That I did, lassie. Whatcha be needin’ from the Dread Pirate Bud?”

Trudy giggled again and mocked a curtsy at him. “Just wanted to come pay tribute, Captain! If you and your first mate need anything tonight, you’re welcome to hop behind the counter and get a drink. We’re doing good business tonight.”

“Speak for yourself, bar wench! No hair’s bein’ cut tonight, that I can assure yeh.”

“Still, the place looks great. You and Ian did an amazing job.”

This much was certainly true. Bud’s Barbery and Trudy’s soda fountain had been converted into an impressive rendition of a pirate ship, wood planks and all. The barber chairs had been cleared away to make room for the apple bobbing barrel, and the far wall was dedicated to an old-fashioned ring toss. It was only then that she realized that she and Eugene were the only pirates in the room. “Where’d Ian go?”

Eugene gave a theatrical sigh and pointed towards the cashier counter. It took Trudy a moment to realize that Ian Rollands, barber assistant extraordinaire, was actually folded up underneath it. Ian was a tall guy, but he’d managed to work his way into the space, and now sat folded in on himself. He had a book on his knees which he studied with feverish intensity. His lips moved soundlessly, and Trudy was pretty sure he was plugging his ears with his fingers. He was using the fake pirate hook on his right hand to turn the pages. She looked over at Mr. B questioningly. “Midterm?”

“Midterm,” Eugene agreed. He lowered his voice, and for the first time all evening he dropped the pirate speak. “His social perspectives class. Worthless teacher gave them the review a week late. Normally I’d make him walk the plank for leaving me with the apple-bobbing mob, but he’s worried about this one. I’ve got him running the ring toss when people ask for it.”

Trudy smiled at him knowingly. “Why Captain! You’re nothing but a big softy!”

“Arr!” Bud growled, waving his parrot-free arm threateningly. “Be gone, yeh scurvy cur, before I make yeh walk the plank!”

“Awk! Walk the plank!”

Trudy laughed and did as she was told, finally making it to the door to step outside. She worried that Saul might have already left because she’d taken so long to get away. For a moment she only noticed the cold October air against her skin and the noise of the laughing crowds moving up and down the sidewalk.

But then she saw the horse.

It was a huge, black thing with slim legs standing patiently in the road outside the shop. Trudy didn’t know much about horses, but she thought that this one was beautiful, all glossy flank and shining hair in the streetlights. For a moment, Trudy only stand there aghast, staring up at the caped, black-masked man on the horse. He tipped his hat to her, and a little light glinted off the brim that came down over his eyes. She had to admit, it was pretty impressive. “Where on earth did you get a horse?”

Saul Poplar grinned at her and flourished with an arm, showing the red lining of his cape. “Good evening, Senorita,” the man intoned in a bad Spanish accent.

“Hi, Saul,” she said rather weakly. “I mean, Senor Zorro.” She cautiously approached the second grade teacher and his horse.

Saul dismounted with the fluid ease of someone who was naturally comfortable with horses. He patted the beast’s flank affectionately. “He’s really something, isn’t he?” he said in his normal voice. He reached out and grabbed Trudy’s hand, reeling her in until she could touch the horse’s silky mane. “I only have him for the night. Figured Sid here could help me win that couples’ contest, isn’t that right, boy?”

Trudy was now stroking the horse’s neck with reverence. “Sid?” she asked curiously. It seemed like an odd name for such an impressive animal.

“His full name is Black Obsidian,” Saul said with a shrug. “Kind of a mouthful if you have to shout it every time the posse catches up with you.”

For a moment the two of them just stood there smiling goofily at each other, their fingers only a few centimeters apart on Sid’s flank.

“Wow, Mr. P!”

The moment was abruptly shattered as two of Saul’s students rushed up. Their teacher had to reach out a hand to steady the horse. “Woah! Easy, guys. Sid here is a real show horse, you have to be a little quieter around him. Don’t want him spooking from all the noise.”

The boys clustered around the horse excitedly, and Saul and Trudy exchanged an ironic smile. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Look, are you free later? I’d love to take you on a ride.”

Trudy fought down a blush, but just barely. “I’d like that,” she agreed, almost despite herself. “Maybe once the crowd dies down?”

“I’ll swing by,” Saul promised with a grin. Then, with a sigh, he turned to the excited boys. “Alright, who wants to go first? Just one quick ride, up and down the block!”

Over the enthused yelling that followed, Trudy heard Brian’s voice from behind her as someone opened the door to the shop. “Trudy! Help!”

With a sigh of her own, Trudy turned her back on Saul and his horse, and went to go pry Brian’s fingers from the sticky register.

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Want more? Read the Next Part over on The Art of Observation!