Post by Vi-Poi on Aug 23, 2017 5:54:37 GMT
Thread PL: 17,013,320
Something new had happened.
For the first time since forever, Proton Poop Boy could think. He wasn’t just a glowing blue glob of… of something floating through the Fokorou Forest at night, and screaming KA-KAAA, KA-KAA, terrifying lumberjacks and hikers into thinking they saw a phantom.
He could think, and more, he could remember.
He remembered what he was made of: degenerate proton matter from a certain burrito-laden android which had, for the first time, assembled some kind of sentience. Ever since this collection of dense protons plopped into what would have been its high-pressure laser oblivion, it began to gather chi of its own. Soon, it’d exploded.
He remembered that much.
Before he could tell what he himself was, he’d ran screaming from its place of birth, a howling streak that blasted out of King’s Castle and into the forest. As his initial terror waned, so did his energy, and he soon tumbled into the great stretch of Fokorou Forest.
Proton Poop Boy had, over long months of winding, incoherent travel, stumbled his way generally south-by-southwest, until he’d found himself outside of quiet woodland village called Leaf Town.
Presently, he was trudging down a small wagon trail, content with his shiny new thoughts.
But he was not alone with his thoughts.
“W-what in the hell is that?” A voice growled out. A shotgun cocked. “Mah, get out here!”
Proton Poop Boy turned on his heels. “HEEEEEE!” lloooooo He said and thought, not quite getting down how to talk yet.
A gangly teenager wearing mud-doused denim overalls and a faded West City Taitans hat leveled the dark mouth of his shotgun at Proton Poop Boy. “Sweet pea pie! It’s some kinda alien!”
“Dat’s no alien, yah nitwit.” Another voice rumbled. A rotund woman who must have been Mah carrying a basket brimming with blueberries. “Dat’s soft serve ahs cream gawn wild!”
The boy’s eyes widened, and the straw-colored hair poking out the sides of his hat seemed to stand on end. “W-what?! I didn’t know soft serve ice cream could… could go wild.”
“Ay-uh,” The Mah confirmed. “S’all dem cityfolk, with deir high-fatootin’ ways. Bet he from dah city. Dey dink dey so bright, and the next ding yah know, dere ahs cream is floppin around, walkin and talkin!”
“Oh,” The boy said, lowering his shotgun. A thoughtful frown crossed his sunburned face. “But uh, what flavor is he? I’ve never seen a flavor like that before.”
Mah shouldered the youth aside and squinted at Proton Poop Boy. “Prolly one of dem newfangled flavahs, aintchya?” She demanded, studying the Poop’s golden aura and neon blue substance. “Lemon Raspbawwy, sumthin? Pffaw! Back in my day, we jes had vawniller, strawbawwy, and chocklawt. An we liked it!” She pointed a finger at Proton Poop Boy. “Tell it like it is, boy. You one of dem whackee new flavahs?”
Feeling a little confused, and a little ashamed as to his true identity, and a little flattered at being mistaken for something as delicious as ice cream, Proton Poop Boy gave a big wide smile and nodded. “Yeppuh!”
“Well, well. Jes like I said. Now then, what kinda flavah is yah?” The woman asked, grinning slyly.
“Proto…” Proton Poop Boy began doubtfully. “Proto –“
“Proto? Huh! Never heard of it! Guess its one of dem new flavors the kids like, some kinda foofy bawwy. Dem youngins, can’t ever jes be satisfied.” Mah shot an accusatory squint at her son. “Yah evah heard of Pro-Toh flavah?” She asked, drawing out the word nice and long.
The boy shook his head, mystified. “Never once. Maybe he’s from West Capitol. Lots of new stuff there.”
And so, Proton Poop Boy was named Proto, and, through the use of a flying contraption the clever boy had built out of a Home Flying Kit – little more than a shopping cart with a propeller on it, all they could afford – the unlikely trio made their way to West Capital, where Proto was preternaturally attracted to the heady and fragrant aroma of fries frying in a McBao’s, and something else. Something inside the McBao’s, that he couldn’t quite place.
“Bowzy, bowzee!” Proto screamed as he saw the sign, already bouncing from the cart-chopper as it made a rickety landing on the sidewalk.
“Guess that’s his home. You be careful, lil fella.” The boy said, as the Mah harrumphed and muttered about being surrounded by city-slickahs. “Names Tako. Maybe I’ll see you around.” And with that, he flew off.
“Guess that’s his home. You be careful, lil fella.” The boy said, as the Mah harrumphed and muttered about being surrounded by city-slickahs. “Names Tako. Maybe I’ll see you around.” And with that, he flew off.
Proto waved goodbye happily. His little feet clapped on concrete, his blue mass jiggling and wobbling as he ran for the double doors, wrenching one open.
“PROTO!” He yelled gleefully.
Vi-Poi froze in shock, his veggie burger halfway past his lips. He’d been hankering for one since he passed Saturn on his way home. His blue eyes swiveled sideways, going with fear. Oh no.
“Oh my Kami, is that what I think it is!?” A patron shrieked.
“PROTOOOOO!” Proto yelled, making a beeline towards Vi-Poi.
“Disgusting!” A strange man in a mechanized bee outfit said, throwing his cheeseburger down and hoisting his bee helmet back onto his shoulders. “This place is too gross, I’m outta here!”
People turned to stare. “It’s not mine, I swear,” Vi-Poi stammered, his voice high and thin, registering his anxiety.
Shortly after the Proton Toilet Incident this past fall, which had given birth to the screaming blue puddle, Dr. Slouch had warned Vi-Poi that although the current state of Poop Theory was woefully foggy -- with lots of sticky problems – there was a consensus among Poopologists that a sentient Poop would often become preternaturally drawn to their creator. So much so, it could reach stalker levels.
“Proto and Veee Pooooooyyyy, Proto and Veee Pooooyyyy!” The blue blob cheered, bouncing in a circle.
“So gross,” Vi-Poi sighed, taking the Poop by the hand and quickly walking him towards the restrooms. At least it wasn’t a real Poop. It was just… degenerate proton matter. That’s all. “Okay,” He said, unlatching one leg at the knee and bending it backwards until his sneaker touched his thigh. “Hop in.”
Proto looked up at Vi-Poi curiously.
“If you’re gonna start following me around, I might as well take you with me.”
Proto gushed with happiness, thinking and knowing and remembering at that very moment that he was supposed to be with Vi-Poi, his creator.
Vi-Poi raised a warning finger. “But if you ever mess things up for me,” he warned sternly. “I’ll flush you.”
Proto gulped, then wagged in agreement, and flumped into Vi-Poi’s opened leg, nestling himself behind the steely kneecap. Vi-Poi snapped himself back together and sighed. Maybe he should have went to Namek after all.
