Tag Archive: brian/trudy


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!

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.

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

Dinosaurs in the Fridge

The result of the prompt, “There was a dinosaur in the fridge.” Though Brian and Trudy live in Springfield, neither of them have superpowers. This story takes place several years down the road in their relationship; in most of the stories they aren’t married yet.


There was a dinosaur in the fridge. More accurately, there were sixteen of them, carefully vacuum-sealed and covered in plastic, all shoved into a little cardboard box.

Brian Branch was rather unsettled by this.

To be clear, he wasn’t at all unsettled by the dinosaurs themselves—ever since Trudy had gotten pregnant, there was always a box of the oddly-shaped chicken nuggets to be found in their freezer. It was by far the oddest craving Brian had ever heard about, and it didn’t appear anywhere in his stack of helpful parenting books. But then, when had anything about their lives been normal?

No, the problem was, this wasn’t the freezer. It was the fridge, and didn’t she know that these things could go bad after a couple days if they weren’t properly cooled? Did she want to give their unborn children food poisoning?

He picked up the offending box and opened the freezer, intent on returning it to its proper place next to three other identical boxes which were neatly stacked between the toaster pastries on one side and the gallon of mint chocolate chip ice cream on the other. Brian took a moment to enjoy the utter orderliness of the freezer, if for no other reason than it was the only place in the house where he could find things in the same place he put them anymore.

Except for the renegade box of dinosaur chicken, anyway. There was no room for it in the freezer. Utterly stymied by this failing of his organizational system, he looked down at the cartoony packaging as one would an explosive device.

Brian took a moment to steel himself, taking a deep breath before closing the freezer door, dinosaurs still in hand. For a second he just stood there, staring at the eggshell-white surface with his back to the kitchen, trying to pretend that everything was this nice and clean.

He knew better.

With a sigh, he finally turned and faced the sight of a kitchen so messy it looked more like one of his students’ Algebra binders. Things were strewn all over the place—makings for ice cream sundaes were spread haphazardly across the small table, between piles of papers from his Algebra II class that had once been neatly stacked, and were now skewed and slightly sticky. Dishes were piled in the sink (Brian looked away before he had to battle his insatiable need to scrub them all immediately); the dishwasher was open, revealing rows of color-coordinated sippy cups, pacifiers, and washable play toys. The fact that none of them had been used yet didn’t matter; Brian had read the consumer reports about all the germs that lived in department stores. Those things were getting washed at least twice before any child of his used them.

A muffled thump from the direction of the living room sounded. Hesitantly, Brian moved out of the kitchen, ducking under the drying laundry strung across the doorway. “Trudy?”

He tripped over a stack of new parenting magazines two steps in, the chicken nuggets going flying. As he picked himself up off the floor (they really needed a new vacuum, he could see crumbs in the carpet, for heaven’s sake!), he had a fleeting sense of vertigo as he realized that this was what the house looked like before Trudy gave birth to triplets.

It took him a moment to locate the box of dinosaurs, over by the couch.

Then his gaze fell to what was on the couch, and he suddenly found himself a lot less worried about decomposing chicken nuggets.

Trudy was sound asleep, one side of her face pressed into the arm of the couch, her red hair a complete mess. She’d tipped slightly in her sleep, as she tended to do these days, so that her back was pressed against the couch in a subconscious attempt to straighten out her protesting spine. Her feet, which had started out laying on the ever-present ice packs for her ankles, were now pointing in opposite directions. One was resting on the carpet, and Brian couldn’t help but notice that the sock was inside out.

Their lives really were getting out of control.

Still, she was beautiful. Maybe the most beautiful he’d ever seen her. She never believed him when he told her that; she’d look down at her stomach (which was now approximately the size of a Volkswagen) and bemoan the loss of her figure and her ever increasing waistline. As far as Brian was concerned, he was looking at all four of his favorite people in the same place, and that view was hard to beat.

His gaze drifted back to the floor, and for the first time he noticed that the dinosaurs weren’t alone. A bowl of half-melted ice cream sat within arm’s reach of the couch. Brian realized with horror that there were three scoops in the bowl, which meant that she’d left the empty carton in the freezer. Something inside his chest clenched terribly, and he took a deep breath to calm himself.

Pick your battles, he chanted to himself, taking his therapy to heart. There are more important things. There are bigger messes. There are… it wasn’t working. You’re going to go insane, but it’ll probably be worth it.

He reached out to pick up the bowl, intent on putting it in the sink, washing it along with all the other dishes in the sink, and then putting the freshly washed dishes into their neatly color-coded cupboard homes.

That was when he saw the book. It was splayed open, leaning partly against the couch, its pages getting bent from its own weight. This was the source of the sound he’d heard, then. Trudy must have dropped it when she fell asleep—or, more likely, she’d had it balanced on her stomach and it had just slid off.

If there was one thing Brian hated more than room-temperature chicken nuggets (and to be fair, that ranked high on his list of things he hated), it was a book with bent pages. Without any kind of conscious decision, he scooped up the poor mangled paperback and smoothed out the cover with his hands. It was only then that he read the title.

“Baby names?” he murmured thoughtfully, looking at his sleeping wife’s face. They’d agreed to talk about names next month; apparently, Trudy was getting a head start. Unable to resist, he found the handful of pages marked with bright green sticky notes and opened up to the first one.

Trudy had helpfully highlighted the ones she liked. Though why she liked Bartholomew, he had no idea. Or Barbara. Or Bradley. It sounded like she was casting for a soap opera. Why not name one Blanche and get it over with?

Momentarily forgetting about the chicken (an admittedly big step for him), he settled onto the floor and flipped through her other selections, aware that he’d never get away with this if she was awake to stop him. Her other choices were equally alarming to him. Lance? Lillith? Laurence?

Oh,” he breathed out with horrified understanding. Oh, she was picking triplet names. She wanted them to be those horrible parents who gave all of their children matching names, because apparently having two identical siblings didn’t single you out for enough playground mockery and enforced togetherness already.

Brian was willing to admit that he might have some latent bitterness from his own playground experiences to deal with. Still, Lillith was a really terrible name.

He looked through her other highlighted selections with a quick eye, unable to bear any more psychological trauma. Wendy, Wesley, Willard. He put the book down and stared at it, slightly green around the gills. Then he saw that he’d missed a marked page; he’d only read from six pages, but there were seven sticky notes. With a kind of resignation that can only be achieved by an OCD man who couldn’t leave a sticky note un-looked at, he opened the book again.

There was only one name highlighted on the page. He let his finger trace it. “Oliver,” he said thoughtfully. Then he said it again, as if getting used to the weight of the word on his tongue. “Oliver. Oliver Branch.”

That wasn’t bad. Quite good, actually. Classy. He smiled despite himself. “Oliver Branch,” he proclaimed to the empty air of the messy living room. It was an odd moment of peace in the chaos of married life and expected parenthood. He let himself feel it, a kind of contentment that ran bone-deep. Maybe, he thought, this was something of fatherhood.

Then his eyes focused on the now absolutely uneatable, defrosted, no doubt slightly soggy box of dinosaur chicken nuggets on the floor. His shudder of revulsion shook him out of his pleasant stupor. With a heavy sigh, Brian stood, leaving the book where it had landed. He scooped up the melted ice cream and went to the kitchen to find his trusty rubber gloves. The box was probably contaminated; he’d have to put it in the outside garbage to keep Trudy clear of the impending salmonella outbreak.

Mission in mind, Brian set about his task. Parenthood phantoms would just have to wait. Sometimes, you just had to deal with the dinosaurs in the fridge first.

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