Mordegan: Poogle Rights Advocate - Part One

     He cut a rather comical figure as he strolled leisurely across the cloud-scattered avenues, for a large green Lupe pulling behind him a comatose Warf of the same color on a long leather leash is a sight rarely seen indeed. Mordegan had named his pet Crop Circle (CC for short) in reference to the dark ring around the Warf's eye. Unfortunately for Mordegan, the petpet had always been extremely passive, barely moving at all. But the Lupe didn't mind. He had enough boundless energy for the both of them anyway.

     "Oh! Look at that, CC!" Mordegan exclaimed, pressing his emerald green snout against a large store window. "They've got all those nice Faerie petpets on display."

     Indeed, the store featured a momentous collection of rosy-winged Petpets. They puttered about the display, preening their fur and fluttering their gossamer wings, looking quite pleased with themselves. Mordegan smiled down at his Warf.

     "They're nice, huh? But don't worry, CC, I like you green." He ruffled the Warf's ears and then started down the avenue again. It wasn't long before Mordegan's gaze caught another point of interest.

     "Hey... Look at that, CC. There's a Poogle race that's about to start!" He massaged his whiskers thoughtfully. "I've never seen one of those before. Let's go check it out!" The Lupe bounded enthusiastically over to the bookie, a Scorchio with a bored expression. He looked at Mordegan expectantly.

     "Well?" he drawled. "Are you going to place a bet or what, kid?" the Scorchio asked, drumming his claws on the booth. Mordegan peered at the list of contenders, drawing out his bag of Neopoints.

     "Hmm," he said, his bushy green tail thumping on the ground in concentration as he examined the list of contestants. "I suppose I'll have to go with number five. I bet one hundred and fifty Neopoints."

     The Scorchio sighed and rummaged around for the appropriate ticket stub. "One fifty on number five... Ah, here's one." He slid the ticket across the booth to Mordegan. "The race starts in five minutes. Good luck to you."

     "Thank you!" Mordegan said, gathering his Warf up in his paws, and clenching the ticket firmly between his teeth. He galloped over to the stands, gingerly edging past the already seated patrons.

     "Excuse me, pardon me... Sorry, just trying to get by..."

     At last he made it to a vacant seat. Smiling, the Lupe lowered himself into the stands and settled in to watch the race. He propped the Warf up on his furry knee.

     "Look CC! The race is starting," he exclaimed, grinning in anticipation. A trumpet blared, and the Poogles were off!

     Mordegan tried to keep track of number five, but soon all he could see was a mass of creamy yellow fur moving down the track. The Poogles were panting, their sides heaving with exertion. The Lupe glanced around at his fellow gamblers and was surprised at how rowdy they were getting. A wiry Kougra in the front row was throwing Neocola cans at the Poogle in the lead, snarling about how his racer ought to be winning instead of the leading contender, and a heavyset Chia just a few seats down from Mordegan was shouting some very nasty things to the poor Poogles.

     Mordegan gasped. Had he known how horrible and traumatic these races were, he never would've supported them. He watched in shock as the lead Poogle was struck by carton of popcorn and tripped as a result, ramming into the Poogle behind him.

     The race finally ended with Mordegan's Poogle, number five, finishing first. He was followed by numbers two and four. The people who had bet on the losing Poogles were voicing their anger, arguing with each other and tossing even more garbage and insults to the exhausted racers.

     Mordegan was horrified. He scooped up CC, cradling the Warf protectively in his arms and darted quickly for the exit. The Lupe left the large outdoor track with one resolution burning in his mind. He was going to stop Poogle racing once and for all!

     ***

     Number Four groaned as he leaned back in his well-worn chair. All around him, his fellow racers were lounging about, nursing their wounds and complaining of sore muscles. They had reason to, after all. They had been forced to run twenty-eight races in one day. Twenty-eight! It had only been twenty-four two months ago. Not to mention, their cut of the betting money had been dropping sufficiently all throughout the last year.

     As the oldest Poogle, Number Four felt somewhat compelled to do something to improve the welfare of himself and his comrades. After all, Poogles were revered as being the fastest Neopets in the world. That ought to count for something. Number Five, who came trundling up to offer Number Four some leftover Borovan, interrupted Four from his thoughts. The old Poogle gratefully accepted, sipping the warm drink contemplatively. He turned to Number Five.

     "You know, Five..." he began, idly stroking his chin. "I've been thinking lately... Us Poogles get a lousy deal. We run more races, get more junk chucked at us, and see fewer and fewer Neopoints every month. It shouldn't be that way. After all, without us Poogles there wouldn't be any Poogle racing." Four yawned, peering at Number Five through his lazily hooded eyes.

     "What do you think of that?" he asked, scratching one of his long pointed ears. Number Five blinked blearily.

     "It all sounds pretty revolutionary, Four." Five yawned as well, exposing his ferocious teeth. "Can we talk about this later? I'm just so tired." He staggered about four paces to his sleeping area and flopped down on the soft straw pallet. "We'll talk later. Tomorrow morning, maybe." Five closed his eyes, and in a few moments, soft snores could be heard emanating from his still form.

     Four sighed, gazing around the small resting area that the Poogle racers were contained in while they weren't running. It was a dismal place, cramped and dimly lit, furnished with items that were either broken, torn or permanently stained. All around him, weary Poogles were crashing down on their miniscule sleeping mats, gratefully embracing slumber and a brief reprieve from the hardships of the race. Four stifled another yawn as he curled up into a tight little ball on his chair, burying his nose in his paws.

     "So tired..." he muttered. "Sleep now. Tomorrow... Do... something." Five minutes later, he was snoring with the rest of them, and indulging in fitful dreams of a rest from the race.

     ***

     Mordegan rapped impatiently on the bookie's booth, his usually pleasant face twisted into an angry snarl. Finally, the haggard Scorchio slid open the wood panel, smacking his gums in fatigue. He yawned, exposing his gleaming, pointed fangs and eyed Mordegan with distaste.

     "Oh it's you. Listen; if you forgot to collect your winnings, it's your problem. I can't help you. We do have a time limit, after all." He tapped the glossy sign that was posted on the outside of the booth. All winnings must be collected within five minutes of the race results. He leered down at the fuming Lupe. "And we don't give refunds."

     Mordegan snorted. "I didn't come for a refund. I came to demand that you call an end to this degrading process!"

     The Scorchio chuckled. "What process? Taking bets?"

     Mordegan reared up, placing his large green paws on the front of the booth. "No! I want you to call an end to Poogle racing!" he bellowed. The bookie sighed.

     "Oh, fantastic. Another fluff-headed activist." He leaned in close, so that their noses were almost touching. "Listen, pup. This isn't the first time I've had some do-gooder Poogle advocate with nothing better to do come here and preach to me about Poogle rights. So don't think that you can change something that's been going on for years just because you don't like it."

     The Lupe pulled back, a low growl rising in his throat. "It's not just me. What about the Poogles themselves? Do they come trotting up to you, bringing you muffin baskets and singing about how much they love being forced to run until they're exhausted while an obnoxious crowed throws garbage at them?"

     The Scorchio rolled his eyes. "Well, aside from the muffin part..."

     Mordegan raised his eyebrows. "If you're so sure, then why don't you let me talk to them personally? If they really do enjoy racing then I'll leave."

     The bookie smiled. "And you'll never come back?"

     "I'd never come back here anyway," Mordegan angrily replied.

     The Scorchio folded his claws. "Well, alright then. I'll arrange for a meeting with you and one of the Poogles. He can tell you exactly how he feels about the whole racing business."

     Mordegan smiled. "Good. I look forward to it."

To be continued...