Road Beers
by Black Blade (Amy K. Cyrway)
blkblade@mailexcite.com

***NOTE: This story (adapted from a story I wrote in my Creative Writing
class) takes place during ...Love and War: Part Two.  In other words, a day
or two after Avaon arrived but before The Underwear Open in Part Four
(Three Continued).  As for copyrighted material, the only thing in this
story that isn't original is the concept of Greg Weisman's Gargoyles.  The
characters are copyrighted by moi, the places are real, the song is by Mr.
Bungle, the concept is Greg's, the original copyright is by Disney and Buena
Vista.  Nuff Said, on with the show!!! 

Oh, yeah.  This is the Outklaws we're talking about.  There is MATURE
CONTENT in this story!  Mostly swearing and sexual induendos, but boys
will be boys....***

	"Jetta, gold."
	"Cabrio, red, top down."
	"Ooohhh!  Power blue Beetle, baja, convertible, top down!  Six points!"
	"Fuck you, Mag.  FYI, you can't baja a convertible!" Smith groaned,
gulping his Sam Adams.
	"Then what is that?" Magnum grabbed his brother's head and pointed
toward the noisy little vehicle.
	The Outklaws, perched on their barn one warm spring night, were
playing the Volkswagen game out on the Augusta Road Route 104,
somewhere between Waterville and Sidney (no one was quite sure where
the town line was), and drinking beer.  Of course, that was all they ever
did these nights.  There wasn't much to do on a Wednesday night for six
lonely gargoyles.
	"We have to find something to do," Chaz growled, lighting up a
Marboro as he stood upright.  "I can go see if I can borrow' a car...." His grey
brow shot up as the corner of his mouth twitched mischievously.
	"Dude!" Wes slapped Smith on the arm.  "Break out the CD's!  It's road
trip time!  Fire it up, Chaz!"
	"Ten-four, good buddy!" Chaz unfurled his wings and leapt off the
barn, gliding towards either the town of Sidney or the city of Waterville--
they all had crumby directional sense.  Chaz would know where he was
once he was in a moving vehicle.
	"Now, where the hell's Maus and Clay?" Smith questioned.  Magnum
and Wesson shrugged.
	"Probably playing on Clay's computer," Mag retorted, fishing out a
Guinness from the cooler and handing it to Wes' awaiting hand.
	Smith grinned, gliding down to the open barn door.  Once inside, he
heard some Faith No More playing on the stereo.  Squinting, he tried to get
his eyes adjusted to the darkness.  He saw the glow of the smallest
gargoyle's computer, and the two of them, a tall green one with short
curly brown hair and a rough goatee and the short red one with longish and
unruly blonde locks, haunched over the screen, the tall one whispered, "Oh,
yes, very nice.  Okay, can you make her a deep red, or maybe a nice
chartuese...."
	The smaller one, Clay, nodded, making the adjustments with a few
clicks of the mouse.
	"Oh, yes, very nice, Clay.  Now, save her and let's move on to the
Hustler disk...."
	"What are you two up to?" Smith snorted, knowing damn well what
they were doing.
	"What else is there?" Mauser turned his green face towards Smith
and grinned evilly.  "We just finished with Clay's Playboy JPEG's, and boy,
are we having fun!"
	"Throw a girlie magazine in with a bunch of horny gargoyles with a
scanner and a computer in their possession and see what comes out!"
Claymore cackled.
	"Face it, bros," Smith snorted again as he glanced at the manipulated
image of the Playboy bunny, now with dark red skin, a ridge of horns on her
forehead, and gargoyle wings, "we need chicks.  Real ones."
	"Speak for yourself, dude," Maus retorted.  "I have a chick."
	"And who says relationships based on sex alone never work out?"
Smith rolled his eyes.
	"The only real chicks' in New England are the four from Clan
Winslow, and Maus' breathing blow-up doll," Clay pointed out before
Mauser punched his arm.
	"Only one of them can be truly dubbed a chick worthy enough, and
that's Mercedes.  The two shrimps are underdeveloped, if you know what I
mean--" Maus held his hands, cupped, in front of his chest, indacating
breasts.  "--And that Eddie bitch is too ugly to even be deemed as female. 
You see that beak of her's?  How many chicks have you seen with a beak?"
	"We've only seen five gargoyle chicks.  Anyway, Eddie's taken." Smith
shrugged, retreating to his loft he shared with Mag.  The walls were
covered with photographs and printouts, his side Volkswagens, Mag's side,
martial arts.  "Speaking of which, have you seen that new dude over there? 
Avon or something like that?  He and Mercedes have become pretty
chummy-chummy, if you know what I mean."
	"What about Eddie?" Maus questioned with grotesque curiosity.
	"Mag," Smith retorted.  Before Maus protested with disgust, the
white gargoyle added, "Y'want to go cruising tonight?"
	"What? Chaz or Colt gonna hotwire a car?"
	"Colt's gone," Smith shrugged, thinking where the deep-blue gargoyle
was.  "I think he's over at Wentworth's, y'know, his human beer-buddy?"
	"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Maus grinned, stroking his scraggy goatee, Eddie
forgotten for the moment.
	"What kind of car?" Clay whined.  Last time Chaz "borrowed" a car, it
was a Chevy Cavalier.  Since Clay was the smallest, he was stuffed into
the trunk with the road beers.
	"How the hell am I supposed to know?" Smith demanded, throwing
Maus a suitcase of Molsen Talls from the loft.
	"Staties!" They heard Mag shout, as he and Wes scrambled into the
barn.  The five gathered around the window, observing a beat-up 1977 Ford
F-250 truck speed down the Augusta Road, followed by two new state
cruisers.
	"Was that Chaz?" Clay demanded, pushing Maus from the window.
	"Doubt it; Chaz hates Fords," Wes shook his head.
	"If that was Chaz, set the timer anyway," Maus ordered.  Wes clicked
the stopwatch hanging around his neck.  The five remaining Outklaws
waited four minutes and twenty-eight seconds before the rumble of a
truck engine alerted them they had company.
	"Clay," Maus hissed to the red gargoyle.  "Go see who it is."
	"Why me?"
	"Cuz if a statie sees you, they'll think we're the same size as you.  If
we send Mag--" Maus flipped his thumb towards the largest Outklaw.  "--
They'll be prepared."
	"Damn, I hate it when you make sense," Clay muttered, poking his
head out the barn door.  The F-150 rumbled in the gravel driveway, and
Chaz waved at him from the driver's seat.
	"It's Chaz!" he cried, throwing open the ancient barn doors and
jumping into the cab.  Wes whooped, grabbing his bag of CD's and his
portable player.  Maus pushed Claynext to Chaz and settled into the
passenger's seat.
	"Your best time yet, man!" The green gargoyle grinned. "I thought you
hated Fords."
	"Pickings were slim tonight," Chaz shrugged, lighting up a cigarette
as the remaining three gargoyles leapt into the bed of the dump bed, Smith
with the beer.  Once everyone was somewhat comfortable, Chaz slammed
the Ford into reverse and peeled out of the driveway.

	"A carnival for the human race, cotton candy, happy face.  Child
talking with his mouth full, girlfriend gets stuffed animal!'" Smith and
Wesson sang along with Mr. Bungle's "Carousel" as they sped down the
deserted route 104 junction with 137 back roads, the speedometer
stopping at 110 mph, but with Chaz driving, they all knew they were going
much faster.
	Smith cracked open his Tall and drank deeply.
	"Now, this kicks ass!" he cried into the wind, taking another swig.
	"Shit!" Wes swore as his player skipped.
	"Shit is right!" Mag yelled.
	"This is my favourite song!  This player's shit!" Wes continued.
	"No!  Shit!  STATIES!!!" Smith dropped his beer can and pointed to the
flashing red and blue lights in the distance.
	Magnum knocked on the glass of the rear window.  Chaz glanced into
the reaview mirror, nodded, and accelerated.
	"Damn, those Jap cars really move," Chaz mumbled, gripping the
wheel, his knuckles went white with consentration on the road.
	"We've got to get rid of the truck!" Clay squealed.
	"Agreed," Maus nodded.  Sticking his head out the window, he barked
some orders to the three in the back.
	"What?" Smith shouted.
	"If the staties come up too close, give em a scare!" Mag relaid the
message to his companions.
	"Not a problem!" Wes hopped to the edge of the tailgate, eyes blazing
white hot.
	"Damn!" Smith swore, noticing the sky lightening.  They had, he
calculated, roughly a half-hour before sunrise.
	"Yo, Maus!" he banged on the glass.
	"What now?"
	"We have about thirty minutes before we all get stoned!"
	Maus glanced to the east and swore.  Smith was right.  They had to
find safe haven before the sun rose, before the gargoyles would go into
stone hibernation.
	"Chaz!" he shouted as they crossed into Winslow.  "Turn off the lights
and stash this thing in the woods.  Meet us at the Clan Winslow
farmstead!"
	"Not a problem, o fearless leader!" Chaz threw his cigarette but out
of the cab as Maus and Clay climbed out of the passenger-side window. 
The green gargoyle barked the same order to the three in the back.
	"You want us to do what?" Wes squeaked.
	"We aren't exactly on friendly terms with Clan Winslow, remember? 
Old Ben and his shotgun chasing us last time we tried toilet-papering
their Farmall tractor?" Smith grimaced.
	"Speak for yourself!" Mag protested.  "I'll talk to Eddie about it,
okay?  Let me do the talking, comprende, Mauser?"
	"Yeah, whatever.  Let's go!" Maus leapt into the air, spreading his
wings as a gust of wind picked him up to about fifty feet.  The other four
followed suit, heading for the opposite woods across the road.
	They glided fifteen minutes until they reached the Mason farmstead,
where Clan Winslow lived, almost clear into Albion.  Two females, one
green, beaked, and somewhat scarred, several shades lighter than Maus,
and her companion, an aquamarine one with a pretty human-like face,
greeted them almost mechanically.
	"Well, save for Magnum, I can't really say I'm happy to see you guys,"
the green female snarled, crossing her arms over her chest.  "What the hell
do you want now, Mauser?"
	"We need a place to crash for the day, Eddie," Mag replied, but with a
wave of her hand, he silenced.
	"I wasn't asking you, handsome," she stated sternly, "I was asking
your leader'," she continued with a slight snort.
	"What he said," Maus muttered.
	"Mercedes, get my shotgun,"
	"Hey!" Smith and Wes whimpered.
	Eddie's companion, Mercedes, glanced up to notice Chaz joining the
rest of his fellow Outklaws.
	"Let them stay, Eddie," she mumbled.  "We don't have to be jerks to
them even if they're jerks to us."
	"Hey!" All but Maus protested.
	"Fine." Eddie turned back to the barn, followed by Mercedes and
ultimately the Outklaws.  "But they will be gone by nightfall."
	"Sure, no prob," Maus grumbled. Bitch, he added silently.
	"Well, look on the bright side," Clay retorted.  "Four of them are
female."
	"All bitches," Wes grumbled before Eddie snapped him a warning.
	"We can say we spent the day with a bunch of chicks, no lying."
	"Good point," Smith shrugged, as the rays of the first light splashed
onto Clan Winslow and the Outklaws, petrifying them into stone
hibernation just as a couple of Maine State Police Toyota cruisers sped by
the old farm.


NEXT TIME: Okay, so it was a little lame.  I wrote this to a class of adults
who had no frigging clue who the Gargoyles were, and had to do as much
explaination as I could.  They were still clueless, and I got a C+ on the
blasted piece.  Oh well.  Next story might either be "Castaways on the Seas
of Fate", or "Gliding on the Winds of Time".  Looks like, athough, I might
have to cut back on "Winds of Time, mainly because it's becoming "Love
and War" length.  Maybe a side project....Until next time, same bat time,
same bat channel!

--Black Blade "My Cosmic Song Goes On For Eternity"