POTATO MOON, Part 58: “Righteous Buttery Justice Will Rain Down Upon Us All,” by Emily S. Whitten

“It all makes sense now!” Woeisme exclaimed. “I wondered why the kids in the Rainydale comics I loved as a six-year-old (two whole weeks ago) never changed, and now I understand! They’re based on you, and you’re all sparklepires. Wow. I feel right at home!”

“Great,” grinned Artie.  He ran a hand through his hair, which flopped back to either side like a freshly split baked potato.  “We like it when people show up unexpectedly and declare that they feel right at home. D’you want to come to chemistry classes with us? They’re ripping good fun! And there’s a potato bake after school!”

“Actually,” Jakob said, “We just need to know–”

“Jaaaakob,” Woeisme interrupted. “I can fulfill my quest all by myself, thankyouverymuch!”

“Oh, yeah? Then why did you ask me to drive you here?” Jakob snarled, straightening slightly as a tiny, tiny bit of spine grew in his back.  “Could it be because legally, eight-year-olds can’t drive?”

“Whatever,” Woeisme sighed as she languidly waved her hand in a picture-perfect imitation of her father Edwood.  “You know it’s my birthday tomorrow. I’ll be eighteen soon.”

“You’ll be nine,” muttered Jakob, as Artie, Jarhead, Becky and Veruca continued to turn their heads back and forth in uinson at each bit of dialogue like a group of four extremely undertanned spectators at a tennis match.

“Um, excuse me, you two,” Veruca intervened, “What’s this quest-thingie you mentioned?”

“Oh, that.” Jakob gritted through clenched teeth, which were clenched tightly because the thought of his Woey with anyone other than him always made him clench up all over. “We need to know who this kid Fig’s daddy is.”

“Fig? Little Figgy? Oooh, how is that little munchkin?” Becky jumped up and down excitedly, clapping like a demented seal.

“You know him?” Woeisme squealed, her eyes starry with an entire Milky Way’s worth of lust and wonderfully gooily amazing love as she thought of Fig.

“Sure we do!” Exclaimed Becky. “He’s Roogie Maple’s boy.  Roogie!” She called, waving both arms. A black-haired vampire slouched over.

“Suuuuuup?” He said.

“Hi! I’m Woeisme Sullen.  Um, is it cool if I marry your son Figgy?”

“Sure.” Roogie shrugged.  “I should warn ya he’s half vampire, thoough.”

“Hey, me too.  That is some kind of perfect perfection there, huh?” Woeisme gushed happily.

Just then, Veruca stepped up to Jakob.  Their eyes met and held, with a bond like a really tough reinforced steel cable.

“You look hungry,” she drawled. “Wanna come to the potato bake with me tonight?”

“Nah, thanks, we gotta go!” Woeisme bubbled as she grabbed Jakob’s hand and dragged him back to the car.  He stumbled, still thinking longingly of Veruca’s invitation.

“This is so great! Only one part of the quest left.  But hey, was that Veruca girl checking you out? I bet if you’d gone to the potato bake, you could’ve gotten anything you wanted.”

Jakob seemed to be only half-listening to her.  There was a hungry, dreamy look in his eyes.  “Could I have gotten them mashed?” he asked.

***

Several hours later, Woeisme stood proudly with Fig.  “I’ve gotten the MacGuffin from the One Who Had It,” she said, holding up the leather pouch.  “I’ve found Roogie Maple and gotten his permission to marry you.  Now, all I have to do is find The Ring! Will you kiss me before I go bravely and with much boldness and brashness to the Pit of Voles?”

“No.” Fig declared pompously. “The reward of a kiss shall be your motivation to return here with The Ring.” And with that, he turned to the door of his mother’s townhouse, grasped the doorknob to make his grand exit—and was electrocuted!

Woeisme stared in shock.  “What, what – that doorknob just killed him!!” she stuttered.  At which point a man dressed entirely in red and black spandex, bristling with guns and knives, swung down from the lintel above.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He said.  “Doorknobs don’t kill people.  I kill people..” Then he gave her a funny squint, and ran off down an alley.

Fig, meanwhile, stood looking down at his slightly charred and frizzled body.  “Huh,” he said.  “Well, at least I’ll never have to hear another joke about Fig Newtons again.”

HAVE YOU HEARD THE ONE ABOUT THE FIGGY PUDDING? A sepulchural voice asked him.  Fig groaned.

Woeisme, completely bewildered by this turn of events in what was supposed to be a fluffy bunny story, sat down on the steps next to Fig’s slowly cooling corpse.  She looked at the leather pouch containing the MacGuffin.  It can’t hurt to look at it now, she thought, and opened the bag.  A wizened potato on a string slithered out.  Woeisme caught it and held it up, and as she did, a buttery glow permeated the street.  Before her floated a tall woman, with flowing (but slightly greasy) blonde hair, a light brown robe (about the color of a potato’s skin), and bare feet (for which there is no potatoey explanation). She looked really, really annoyed.

“I am the Potato Goddess of Righteous Buttery Justice,” she thundered.  “Tell me, who has woken me from my slumber? Solanum, my worthless son, is that you? Or have your twin brats Yukon Gold and El Patata been playing in the holy cupboards again? You know they are not supposed to go near my holy relics.  Waking me up like this!  I need my beauty sleep, you know.  And if they’ve lost my Onion Ring of Power again we are going to have words.  I can’t be having with that kind of thing!”

Then she turned her head and saw Woeisme.

Note from PAD:  I let Emily skirt the edge of the rules because, since Fig is still standing there incorporeal, I’m not counting that as having killed him.  But this is a one-time allowance since I don’t want you guys turning the entire cast into ghosts.