A Rubber Plant Castle Tale: The Dead Bearog

     “…PB&J?” asked Ariniola when she found him. The little blue Bearog lay motionless in the sun. The cloud Cybunny, only a bit bigger than her beloved petpet, hopped closer and leaned forward to try calling again. Her bottom lip quivered. “P-Perry? Berry? J-Jerry are you sleeping?”

     But she felt the petpet wasn’t sleeping. Its belly was not going up and down like it did when all three heads agreed to nap in the garden. Ariniola stared wide-eyed at her beloved friend. The Bearog’s unblinking eyes stared back. She flopped down in a tiny poofy huff and began to wail. Her petpet was dead.

     The gardener of Rubber Plant Castle was the first to hear Ariniola’s cries from the garden. Being a mutant Kau, he picked up the life-less petpet gently in one of his tentacles and the sobbing ball of cloud in another. He sighed. He had warned her to watch the Bearog. Maybe a petpet with three heads was too much to handle for such a young little Neopet.

     He glanced down to both of his little packages as he continued to slither back into the castle and down to his brother’s office. It was a shame. The petpet was a gift from his cousin who lived in the Haunted Woods, quite away from their home in Meridell. It would be a while before Ariniola saw another Bearog. Then again, perhaps that was a good thing.

     As his appendages awkwardly patted the Cybunny’s sniffling head, the gardener knocked on the front office door with a hoof.

     Silence.

     Knowingly, he tried again. This time knocking just the below the golden plaque reading: Mr. Orochi Wing - Head Butler.

     “Go away. I’m busy,” replied Mr. Wing’s disgruntled voice from inside.

     “S’ti cowpoW,” the gardener called.

     “Whatever it is Wopwoc, it can wait.”

     The gardener pounded the door again.

     “S’Aloinira teptep si daed.” The gardener said stubbornly.

     “Come back in two hours, five minutes and… Thirty-six seconds!” yelled the butler from the other side.

     “Tub s’ehs gniyrc!” the Kau anxiously yelled and hammered the door again.

     He rolled one of his four eyes down at the floppy eared Neopet hiccupping in tears. Kids made him nervous, especially crying ones. Worse, holding her was like holding a dripping sponge. He had to resist the urge to squeeze.

     “TEG TUO EREH WON!” He roared.

     “What in Bug Eye McGee’s bandana is it?” huffed a glowering skunk Buzz as he whipped open the door, a large collection of graphs and maintenance charts flying out from a bundle of scrolls in his arms. In a flash the gardener seized the opportunity to replace those bundles with his own bundle of blubber.

     His eyes narrowing, the butler’s tone went from annoyance to suspicion as he glared furiously from his brother to the rapid deposit dripping in his hands.

     “Miss Ariniola? What’s wrong? What happened?” he questioned as he held Ariniola at an arm’s length to protect his suit. His wings beat and hummed with irritation; he was not the best with kids either.

     “Reh teptep si daed,” the gardener whispered and lifted the petpet softly for his brother to see.

     “…Ah.” replied Mr Wing, his usual stiff shoulders drooping down in realization.

     “P-P-PB a-and J-J-J…” Arinola whimpered, convulsing in his arms.

     Exactly one hour and twenty-five minutes later (for the butler was counting), the three Neopets had moved into one of the castle’s small living rooms. Ariniola sat in a pile of feathery wet towels on a big blackberry sofa. She sniffled and clung to a handkerchief in her hands while glancing periodically at her dearly departed petpet, which was in an open box held by the gardener.

     The gardener coiled quietly in the far corner of the room while Mr. Wing paced back and forth with what he thought was gallantry on the center rug.

     “…And sometimes! Sometimes! The Spyder catches the Vernax, Miss Ariniola, and that is the cycle of life.” The butler concluded smartly, turning back towards her with smug expectation.

     At the foot of the sofa he had placed packages of specially ordered treats from around the globe. To his knowledge he had surrounded the little Neopet with the best Neopia had to offer: Toys from the Darigan Citadel, colorful boxes of sugar-speckled sweets from the chocolate factory, and, rarest of all, philosophical reason.

     She opened her mouth to speak.

     “D-Does the Vernax die?” she trembled.

     “Well from what I understand the Vernax disappears forever and you proceed to the next level-eOuch!” yelled Mr. Wing after a passing maid had stomped on his foot while replacing the wet towels.

     “Excuse me sir,” she said as he bounced in place holding his wounded foot.

     Ariniola brought her paws to her eyes and yowled, fresh tears overloading the new towels and sinking into the purple polyester. “I don’t want to go t-to the next level!” she cried as the maid stopped to pat her head. “ I want Perry B-Berry and Jerry back!”

     “Of course you do, poor little dear,” said the maid as she glared at the butler.

     “What?” the Mr. Wing responded, confused. “There’ll always be more Vernax-I mean, wouldn’t you like a nice new Puppyplew? Or perhaps something more sturdy this time… How about a Turtum?”

     He was received with another round of loud weeping.

     Oh Fyora muffins, the butler thought. The Buzz had thrown every logical explanation and bribery he could think of at this child’s feet and to no avail. He was sure his boss, Ariniola’s sister, would hear the commotion soon and reprimand him. Maybe she would dock his pay! Or worse… Take away his golden plaque. He shuttered. He had special-ordered it himself and it had taken the smithy months to finish it.

     “Mr. Wing, a little neopet’s petpet is not so easily replaced.” the maid retorted.

     True, but neither was his plaque. Perhaps guilt would keep her silent?

     “Well if she liked it so much, why wasn’t she watching the three-headed terror?” he indicted. Surprised, Ariniola stopped crying.

     “Mr. Wing!” admonished the maid, putting her hands on her hips.

     “Well?” Mr. Wing asked them, guarding his left leg as the maid eyed his other foot. “This petpet was Ariniola’s responsibility, but who took care of the little beast most? Who fed it? The cook! Who bathed it? You did!” he persisted, pointing at the maid.

     “Shush!” rebuked the maid.

     “…I b-brushed him…” whispered Ariniola.

     “But Wocwop had to clean up its messes in the garden.”

     “Edam doog rezilitref, yllautca.” Mentioned the gardener considerately.

     “And who had to replace the damaged carpet?” continued Mr. Wing, regardless. “Me. Who took it to the hospital when it ate that codestone from an inventory bag? Me! Why, it was a nuisance!”

     “It was not! It was a darling!” retorted the maid, remembering the petpet twirling on its hind legs for table scraps.

     “Darling indeed! Barking at all hours-”

     “To warn us of the neomailmen!” cried Arinola, who was afraid of neomailmen.

     “Won ew evah ot yap eht sllib niaga,” the gardener grumbled.

     “-always ruining my shoes…” continued the Buzz, abruptly remembering how happy the little petpet was when it managed to steal away with a pair of his distinguished Buzz shoes.

     “Oh peppermint Snorkels, you love buying new shoes.” Scoffed the maid as she looked back to the dead petpet and dabbed a tear from her eye.

     “Eh saw a doog teptep,” said Wocwop, looking down at the small lump of fur.

     “…It was a h-horror and wouldn’t leave me alone,” sniffed the butler as he recalled the week he caught Blurred Vision and the Bearog wouldn’t leave his side.

     “…He was my friend,” mumbled Ariniola.

     “Dna enim.” rumbled the gardener.

     “And mine, love.” sighed the maid.

     “Miiiiiiiiiine too!” Mr. Wing unexpectedly moaned, covering his face with his hands and falling to his knees. “Oh Perry, oh Barney, oh whatever your name was-come back! I’m sorry!”

     “Oh now, now. Don’t you start kicking up a fuss Mr. Wing,” the maid rushed over and attempted to lift him back up as he choked back sobs.

     Then the living room door burst open.

     “What’s all this about?” demanded the castle owner as she entered the room. Her golden ball gown quickly swished outward and dyed a good portion of the room in yellow.

     Opposite of her little sister Ariniola, the castle owner was a strict striped Grundo known to have an iron heart and wouldn’t accept negligence of order. So it stands to reason both the gardener and the maid immediately stood and straightened up. Alas, Mr. Wing had not finished his minor meltdown.

     “Baarrneeey! Bwaaaaa-” the butler cried.

     “What is this? Get a hold of yourself man. Report!” Lady Feather ordered him icily.

     “-aaaah y-yes madam.” The buzz sniffled, stood up, and bowed. “The petpet of the young m-missus is now deceased due to some unfortunate event. May I suggest a-hic-a Turtum?”

     The maid and the gardener looked at one another and rolled their eyes.

     “Sister!” Ariniola cried and hopped down from the sofa and over to her. She clung to the bows on her sister’s pooling gown and wept, “I wasn’t watching PB&J! I killed him!”

     “What?” the madam asked, perplexed as she looked around the room. Then, picking her little sister up in one hand and cradling her in her arm (for her sibling was quite small), Lady Feather walked over to the gardener and paused to skim the inside of the box.

     After a fleeting look the lady said to her sister, “Nonsense, you silly girl,” and chuckled, “I killed him.”

     Ariniola’s eyes blinked and then grew wide. “You killed him?” she whispered after a moment’s pause. It must have been true, for her sister never chuckled.

     “Well I gave the command,” drawled Miss Feather, looking thoughtful.

     “You! You! You-“ began Mr. Wing furiously. The maid’s head snapped to attention.

     Oh no, she thought, and hurried to stomp on Mr. Wing’s tail before it was too late.

     The Buzz was about to call Miss Feather a name! *

     *Name-calling was strictly prohibited in the castle. Miss Feather held the firm belief the act was for children who hadn’t learned to counter-argue or for lawyers who could but hadn’t been paid enough. Either way, she deemed it poor practice. And Faerieland would have to rise and fall all over again before Miss Feather would let others think she was poor and have the dignity of her Rubber Plant Castle tarnished.

     Therefore if any servants were caught speaking “juvenile” or “jurisdictional” labels the Grundo fired them on the spot.

     Unfortunately the maid missed.

     “M-MONSTER!” Mr. Wing managed before his courage could waver.

     The maid closed her eyes.

     Ariniola gasped.

     The gardener groaned.

     Miss Feather’s eyes became slits.

     And Mr. Wing gulped.

     Miss Feather opened her mouth, hissed out a mean breath, and then closed it. Every inch of her was tense. Ariniola knew her sister was controlling her emotions inside before she turned red with rage.

     The long trip to the rainbow pool was always a hassle after all.

     Slowly, ever so slowly, the castle owner relaxed.

     “Mr. Wing, imprudence does not pay. Would you like to know how much?” She intoned at last.

     “Well, I r-resign! You killed Perny-”

     “Perry.” the maid whispered.

     “-Perry! Yes! Perry, Barney-”

     “Yerrb.” corrected the gardener.

     “-well I like Barney better, and-and-”

     “Jerry.” said Ariniola sadly.

     “-And him!” Mr. Wing ended.

     “Enough of this,” snapped Lady Feather impatiently. She turned and faced back towards the gardener and the box.

     “Sit!” She ordered.

     “He will not and neither will I!” Mr. Wing crossed his arms stubbornly and nodded towards his brother.

     However, the Mutant Kau could only answer his brother with a confused look on his face. This was because with Wopwoc’s Hissi-like body the Kau was stillsitting down even when he was standing up, wasn’t he? Or wait, what if he lied down? Or would that be mistaken as sitting? His four eyes swiveled in panic.

     “Not the gardener.” the madam rubbed her temples irritably.

     And, like magic, one of PB&J’s depleted heads chirped and the whole little creature sat up inside the box in the panicking gardener’s tendrils. All three pink tongues wagged happily.

     “Hmph,” remarked Lady Feather as she eyed the petpet and commended, “There’s a good sandwich.”

     The Bearog gave a triple yip and jumped out of the box to greet its owner (who was already struggling to get down to rush towards her good friend) and Lady Feather turned to leave.

     “B-But, but! They were so cold!” exclaimed the Ariniola in awed glee as her petpet toppled her over on collision.

     “Dna ti t’ndid knilb.” said the gardener.

     “And it didn’t have a pulse!” the maid added in shock. “I checked!”

     The Grundo sighed and stopped to explain. “Mm yes. Spooky petpets are remarkably good at playing dead,” Miss Feather answered her stunned staff.

     “I gave the order wanting to see how long it would wait. When an impressive half-hour had past I thought it deserved a reward and I went to fetch the cook. However when we returned it was gone. I had assumed it left on its own,” she concluded. And just before she stepped out the door, she paused again.

     “Ariniola dear?”

     “Yes sister!” replied the Cybunny, at last not covered in tears, but in petpet slobber as she maintained to kiss, hug, and pet the three heads of Perry, Berry, and Jerry all at the same time.

     “An idle thought… Perhaps this is a good lesson in petpet care? Do be careful to watch and be a bigger part of your… diminutive companion’s… keeping in the future. Yes?”

     “Forever!” Ariniola promised, more to herself than to anyone else.

     Lady Feather smirked, “At least until the Turtum. Mr. Wing?”

     Mr. Wing (who during the Bearog’s miraculous resurrection had begun mumbling sporadically to himself about the benefits of the Faerie Employment Agency) numbly turned his head.

     “I know you have recently resigned from your post and expect to have a time-consuming retirement. However, you must realize you have offended me personally and harsh retribution is in order,” Miss Feather stated with a hint of menace.

     Mr. Wing cringed. Miss Feather had such a massive social network in Merridell-his extensive resume would be worthless! He would never be able to find work in this land again!

     “So I’m afraid,” the Grundo continued, “As punishment, I must have you work for me as a butler, no, as the Head Butler. The title comes with a hideously tacky plaque.”

     And with a scowl-for it couldn’t have been a smile, could it? She walked out the door.

     “Ah.” replied the new butler. Then he began to laugh.

     And this time both the maid and his brother rushed to catch him when he fell.

The End.