Rollerwings' fics (original anthro now up)

[dodgesuperbee]

Please scroll down for Chapter Two of "It's Always the Quiet Ones."

Retreads and Redemption - Tow Mater/Doreen, TommyJoe/OC
Plot: Mater and Doreen fall for each other hard, but her father exploits their relationship by forcing them to help him plot a terrible crime.
Rated M, so following Sarah's example, I'm not going to post it directly here. (Mods, if this is an issue, just let me know and I'll remove the link.) The rating is for mature themes (sensuality, adult situations, swearing/strong language, alcohol use & violence.) Especially strong warning for chapters 4 & 8.

www.fanfiction.net/s/3468400/1/

Fooled Around and Fell in Love - Tow Mater/Sally, Lightning/Tia, Minny/Van
Plot: Sally catches Lightning carrying on with the Miatas and dumps him for Mater. Hilarity and angst ensue. Rated T for sensuality, mild swearing, alcohol use.

www.fanfiction.net/s/3176127/1/

Concrit and good/bad feedback are always welcome. BTW, I don't post my fanfics under this username because my siblings read FF.N and would ROFL if they came across these.

[dodgesuperbee]

It's Always the Quiet Ones (Red Turns Evil challenge fic)

Setting: Radiator Springs, after the movie.

Author’s Notes: This was written in response to a challenge by Reiji Neko Mitsukai. Her challenge: “I dare someone to write a story where the folks of Radiator Springs are quickly and strangely dying off, and the dwindling survivors must investigate, only to have all the clues lead back to an unlikely source – Red.”

Content: Violence, character death

Disclaimers: All characters copyright Pixar/Disney. In fact, if anyone wants to take any element of this story and run with it creatively (art, writing, etc.) you have my permission, and the challenge is still open so feel free to write your own “Red Goes Evil” fic. The concept of a firetruck using its ladder as a weapon was stolen from a “Family Guy” skit.

Chapter One: Mia and Tia

“Radiator Springs, a happy place.” Mia sniffed as she read the slogan written across the mural before her. The red Miata surveyed the faded painting, which featured the overly cute caricatures of two automobiles – old cars, she noticed with disdain – smiling beatifically. Supposedly the artist had wanted to convey the message that the mere privilege of living in this town was enough to leave anyone giddy with excitement for the rest of his days. While Mia doubted that would have even been true back in the town’s heyday, it certainly wasn’t now. Lately she had been regretting the decision she’d made with her twin to stop following the racing circuit as groupies and settle where their hero, Lightning McQueen, had built his racing headquarters.

The townsfolk here thought that housing a few dusty trophies in a crumbling old motel and rechristening it as a racing museum somehow qualified Radiator Springs to stake its claim as an entertainment hotspot, but neither girl had been terribly impressed. They’d once made the mistake of touring the museum, their voyage through the musty rooms led by that insufferable redneck tow truck, and they’d gazed with little interest at the yellowed newspaper clippings someone had thought worthy of framing and tacking onto the wall. It had been interminably boring and worse yet, educational. Mater had droned on with enthusiasm about the so-called Fabulous Hudson Hornet, failing to notice that both cars had plugged in their earbuds and had stopped listening to him. If they had wanted to learn something, they’d have gone back to school.

“Sometimes I think we made the wrong choice in moving out here,” Tia complained to her twin in an attempt to change the subject. “I mean, the dating prospects were far better at the racetracks. The best this place has to offer are those Road Hazard guys, but they’re too busy running from the law to spend much time with us. Everyone else is too old or a hick or both.”

“What about that firetruck?” Mia asked suddenly. She watched with amusement as her sister nearly wrinkled her hood with distaste. “You may not have noticed it, but I have. He’s totally smitten with you and he turns an even deeper shade of red every time he sees you.”

“Red? For real?” asked Tia, not believing what she was hearing. Indeed, she hadn’t noticed a thing, as she’d been so busy watching to pick up any sign that Lightning and Sally’s relationship might be unraveling. Unfortunately, they seemed to be in it for the long haul and she probably wasn’t going to get him to herself ever again. “But…he’s not my type at all. You know by now that I prefer dating luxury cars and racers. The lowest I’d possibly consider would be a Corvette. I don’t go with trucks, period.”

“Suit yourself,” laughed Mia, “but I’ve heard rumors he’s been trying to work up the nerve to ask you out.” Her twin groaned and began plotting the best way to turn the firetruck down. Not the nicest way, but the best.

* * *

As night fell, Lizzie sorted through her record albums, trying to choose the best song for the traditional cruise. She finally selected a golden oldie she and Stanley had enjoyed many times and blew some dust off the record jacket before sliding the shiny black disk onto the player. As the tunes began to play on the speakers positioned along the street, Lightning and Sally were the first couple to take to the pavement, cruising along blissfully. Soon Ramone and Flo had joined them, followed by the others.

Mia and Tia cruised alongside each other. No one thought much of it, for Luigi and Guido often paired up, as well as Sarge and Fillmore, though the latter two would have claimed it was mere coincidence. Others, like Sheriff and Mater, cruised by themselves. Tia looked over her fender but couldn’t spot Red anywhere.

Just as well, she thought, but no sooner had she passed the alley where the mural was painted than a stream of cold water, not much more than would be released from a young car’s toy squirt gun, splashed against her side window. She turned to find Red grinning bashfully at her from the alley, and he was holding a bouquet of flowers that looked just like the ones he tended to in pots all around town. Excusing herself, she pulled aside to talk to him.

“I suppose you want my attention?” she sputtered indignantly. To her surprise, he answered.

“Tia, you look so beautiful tonight. I’ve been growing these for you all season,” he said, offering her the flowers. The convertible had never heard his voice before and it was deep and mellow, almost like Fillmore’s, but it reflected intelligence as well. Steeling his nerves, he asked the question that he’d rehearsed so many times in front of the large mirror at the fire station.

“Would you like to join me for tonight’s cruise?” he asked, awaiting her answer. Tia gawked for a moment, then let the blooms drop from her grasp.

“With you? Um, let me think about that for a moment. NO!” she smirked. “I have my standards and I have to draw the line somewhere. I do not date old clunkers. Why don’t you find yourself a nice female firetruck to give your posies to?” She pushed the spilled bouquet toward Red, bruising the delicate petals.

Red felt his eyes welling up with tears as she departed, but he fought back the urge to burst into pathetic sobs as he often did when faced with a situation that got the better of his emotions. He pulled out of the alley after the red sportscar.

“She said she isn’t interested,” warned Mia, “so get lost before we have to call Sheriff, you creep.” The two airhead Miatas cruised off, their cruel giggles fading away as they departed. Red stood in heartbroken shock for a few seconds before backing into the alley, white-hot anger churning in his engine.

* * *

Later that night, Mia and Tia met up with Wingo and DJ at Flo’s V8 café, sipping their drinks and talking about Tia’s no-longer-secret admirer. She recounted every pitiful word the firetruck had used when he’d timidly asked her to dance, pausing long enough for her friends to laugh.

Off in the shadows behind Ramone’s, which had closed for the night, a large truck glowered at the insolent young cars. Someone, and maybe her twin as well, was going to learn a harsh lesson. They were among the last few still awake in town. As long as the hoodlum boys headed back to their hometown first, Mia and Tia would return to their rented apartment, and they would pass by the very spot in which he had parked. Red could wait. He had all the time in the world.

After what seemed like an interminable round of drinks and laughter, he heard the twins bidding their friends goodnight, and then as he’d hoped, the sound of their motors as they approached the empty lot. He readied his ladder, which he normally kept tucked closely above his body…

“Tia,” he called softly, and she braked when he emerged from the shadows. Sneering at him, she edged closer to Mia. Perfect…

“I thought I said to scram,” she said haughtily. Those were her last words before Red’s ladder came crashing down upon both cars, leaving them no time to even scream. Looking about cautiously, Red was relieved to find that no one had witnessed his actions. He unreeled a fire hose and looped it around the battered wrecks, creating a crude tow cable.

* * *

Mater awoke to hear the familiar sound of his crusher being operated. Drowsily, he emerged from his shed and stood blinking in the darkness, wondering why anyone would be dropping off scrap metal at this hour, let alone crushing it.

“Oh, it’s you, Red,” he said, greeting his fellow truck at the side of the machine. “Ya doin’ some late-night cleanin’ at yer place and brought some junk over, huh?” The tow truck chuckled as he looked down into the baling press, which was compacting a pile of ancient, rusted firefighting equipment. Something painted bright red, probably a large piece of scrap from the fire station, lay underneath, and another unrecognizable red cube of crushed metal had already emerged from the chute at the far end of the machine.

“Yeah, I finally cleared out the stuff I’m not going to use anymore,” Red answered as the baler finished its work and produced another cube. “Don’t worry about paying me, you can have whatever you can get for the scrap metal.” Mater started to thank him, then looked suspiciously at the two cubes. Whatever they had been, the metal had certainly been a shiny crimson not unlike the firetruck’s own color.

“Were them cousins of yers?” the tow truck laughed, shutting off the machine.

Instead of answering, Red caught him in an ominous, threatening stare that froze Mater where he stood. Frightened, the truck didn’t begin loading up the scrap metal until the firetruck had departed. He had a bad feeling he’d said something he shouldn’t have.

To be continued...

[Tracker89]

lol, poor Mia and Tia, but considering the way you wrote them, they sort of deserved it. Looking forward to seeing more.

[ebonyviper]

So I assume that you're starting with the least favorite characters and working your way up to the most favorite, huh?

Good story. I wonder who's going to be next on Red's list of victims.

[dodgesuperbee]

I've seen too many horror movies. It's true, the stuck-up characters are often among the first to go. Actually, I was thinking Mater might be the next since he's raised Red's suspicions, but if anyone has any "requests" I'll use them.

[ebonyviper]

But Mater is so lovable and he's Lightning's friend.

What about Luigi or Guido?

[Tracker89]

Well it'd make sense if he goes after Mater(since, like you said, he has a clue about what's going on) or one of the DRH(since you made them out to be the Miata twins' friends in this story).

But personally...I want to see Ramone die some strange, exotic death. Not sure why, since I actually like him XD.

[ebonyviper]

Why not have Red scare Mater into keeping his mouth shut about what he's seen and he'll let him live, but in the end Mater dies too in some strange fashion. Mater gets suspicious about what's going on, but he can't tell anybody anything since he fears for his life.

But my reasoning is, Mater is a more important character, since he is the town's only tow truck and without a tow truck, cars would get stranded and there'd be no way to help them.

[dodgesuperbee]

Thanks for all the great ideas -- I will definitely use them.

Tracker89 ~ I will have to think up something for Ramone, but PM me if you have any ideas. I like him and Mater too, but anyone's fair game for Red and his evil intentions.

Ebony ~ Instead of going by favorites, I'm starting with some of the more peripheral characters. Hope that doesn't reveal too much.

[Reiji Neko Mitsukai]

*floored* EEEEEEEEEEE! I love it! This is going to be so great!

[foreignconcepts]

I know! I'm so glad Rollerwings stepped up the the challenge of writing this .... talk about the right person for the job! XD

Sarah

[dodgesuperbee]

I need ideas for Ramone's strange, exotic death. Anyone have any? Also, please offer any helpful feedback, esp. if I made grammar errors. Thanks!

It's Always the Quiet Ones

Author's Notes: Big Al and Doreen are completely different characters and model types than the way they appear (or will appear) in my other fanfiction.

Content specific to this chapter: Alcohol use

Chapter Two: Big Al and Doreen

A rivulet of water streamed from Red’s hose, slowly filling the vase in which he’d arranged the remnants of Tia’s rejected bouquet. He agonized at the sight of the crushed, bruised petals and the bent stems.

“I’m sorry I tore you from your roots, my beauties. I’d have never done so had I known that wretch would mistreat you so.” He straightened a stem, only to have it bend to the side again. “I should have abided by that old saying, ‘Cast not ye pearls before tractors.’ She wouldn’t have appreciated true beauty anyway.” Red finished filling the vase and set it by a window, through which the first rays of sunlight were shining.

“Alas, my efforts to preserve you are in vain, for you’ll inevitably die,” he sighed, bemoaning the fate of his plants. His eyes gazed out at the town, where few cars were stirring. “You may find yourselves in good company, for a lot of lives may end before this is over.”

* * *

It was easy to occupy his usual space at Flo’s at lunchtime and behave as though nothing had happened the previous night, for Red was genuinely tired and didn’t find it difficult to appear only half-interested in the talk around him. He watched the aqua-colored café owner hustle to satisfy her customers, grumbling about her incredibly rude waitresses who, it seemed, had skipped town without giving the customary two weeks’ notice.

“Doc says they left their apartment a trashed mess,” she said with disapproval to anyone within earshot as she poured warm breakfast oil in Red’s mug. “I doubt they saw fit to pay their rent anyway. Will I ever have words for them if they dare to return and collect their last paychecks.”

Inwardly smirking, Red sipped the oil, then almost involuntarily spat it over the pavement before him. The former showcar must have been distracted, for he had never been served such an awful, bitter drink. He beckoned Flo over with a wave of his ladder, visibly annoyed and perhaps emboldened by the events of last night.

“Flo, this oil isn’t up to your usual standards. It tastes burnt, like it was low-grade. I wouldn’t tout this as the ‘finest fuel in fifty states.’ It tastes like it was scraped from the bottom of the barrel.” She stared at him and then at the mess she’d have to scrub off the ground, unable in her state of shock to think of a reply to his cruel words.

“Hey! Who died and made you a restaurant critic?” growled Ramone testily. He was on edge because he’d been roused by his wife before the crack of dawn to help open the café for breakfast, and the lack of sleep was wearing on him. “You just leave my wife alone, man. You’ve got a complaint about her fuel, you take it up with me, understand?”

Red eyed the lowrider. Taking it up with him sounded like an excellent idea, but one that, as always, could wait.

* * *

Back at the firehouse, he watched the lowrider cruising wearily back to his body shop. Narrowing his eyes in disgust, Red vowed to confront Ramone later about his threatening outburst. The firetruck kept it to himself, but he had long harbored malcontent for Ramone, as the lowrider had never hesitated to poke fun at him for becoming emotional about something that others would simply brush off.

Red wheeled around the firehouse, checking on the wilting flowers and straightening a framed portrait on the wall. Realizing what he was touching, he smiled at the faded image of himself and his former comrade, and whisked some dust off the small tarnished plaque beneath the photo. Big Red and Big Al, Radiator Spring Fire Department 1990.

Ah yes, Big Al. The confident grin on the face of the larger truck stood in contrast to the meeker smile playing across Red’s face. The pumper and ladder trucks had been close friends, but whether they worked together to combat a brush fire or save one of Main Street’s landmark businesses from hungry flames, Al inevitably received accolades for his heroics while younger and smaller Red was thanked for helping him, at best. It hadn’t taken long for the more experienced firetruck to start bragging of his accomplishments, leaving the rookie firetruck even farther behind in his shadow.

And the bigger they are, the harder they fall. Pity Al had drank so much that night he fought the small blaze in the courthouse above the fire station. Never mind that it had merely been a smoking air conditioner, but the townsfolk had been so grateful that he’d saved their precious town center that they’d fallen all over themselves congratulating him and buying him drinks. Red had accompanied him to a deep, scummy pond far from town to refill his tank, and waited as Al restocked, still boasting of his extraordinary firefighting skills.

“Did you see the way I put out that fire and sshpared the courthouse papers sitting on the table right by it?” Al slurred, making it hard for Red to tell whether he was more swollen from pride or the water he’d taken in. “That’s professional firefighting for you. I’m so precise.”

“Sshtill,” he continued, “I couldn’t help but notice you were left without anything to do, Little Red.” His partner fumed, for nothing incited his rage more than that hated nickname. “Maybe this town isn’t big enough for two firetrucks. You should find yourself a smaller place and be the star of their department. I’m sure they have the occasional smoking ashtray or trash can fire for you to throw a bucket of water on.” His cruel laugh shattered the silence at the pond, causing frogs to dive from sight.

Red lost no time in shoving him brutally forward, and the inebriated, bloated truck plunged beneath the murky surface of the pond.

Big Al had been right. There was only room for one firetruck in Radiator Springs, and Red had held that honor ever since. Al had been the first vehicle Red had found it necessary to send to the hereafter, and indeed only one other had driven him to kill again, until he’d taken care of the twins. A few years after Big Al’s mysterious disappearance from town, an attractive flatbed hauler had arrived and inexplicably chosen to stay around. Doreen and Red found themselves mutually attracted to each other, and for a few months Red had been so happy that all ill thoughts of harming others had left his mind. All that changed the day he came upon her flirting shamelessly with Mater.

It was 1995…Doreen frowned at Red as they stood parked near the long-closed Midway Inn outside town.

“So what if I did talk to Mater? It’s a free country and it’s not like you and I are engaged or anything,” she said indignantly, trying to keep her balance. She’d only had the single drink that Red had offered her, and the desert was cooling off after sunset, so she wasn’t sure why she was suddenly feeling so dizzy, as though she had heatstroke.

“I heard it all, Doreen. You told Mater you would leave me for him. It’s over for us, or should I say for you.”

“Back off, Red. I mean it.” Eager to escape anywhere she could, Doreen shoved the motel’s flimsy door aside and barely made it inside before the ancient floorboards beneath her gave way, sending her hurtling into the basement. She never had time to shriek. Red peered in, seeing that he didn’t need to do anything else other than push the walls down.

Red had to give himself credit, he’d been incredibly efficient at hiding the bodies. Unless someone excavated the site where the inn had once stood, they were unlikely to discover the truck resting in the basement, buried by the debris of the building that age had seemingly caused to collapse on itself.

“I never did pay Mater back for his role in that,” he reminded himself. The lowrider and the tow truck both occupied his thoughts as he allowed himself the luxury of sleep.

[ebonyviper]

That's an interesting take on Big Al and Doreen.

Good story.

As for Ramone's exotic death?: Uh... lesse... Since Ramone gives himself a different paintjob everyday, why not have him die by artistic talent? I mean, by what he does for a living?

[Tracker89]

That's a well-written chapter...provides an explanation for how Red can suddenly turn from a friendly giant to a psycho killer, and at the same time sets up for his upcoming murders.

Like Ebony, I was thinking about something involving his work...but I couldn't come up with anything specific.

You can drown him in a vat of paint...but that's just regular old drowning which we've already seen, and I don't think Ramone has huge vats of paint lying around anyways.(he runs a paint shop, not a paint factory...)

Or Red can sneak some paint into his gas or oil...but that's no different from poisoning, and once again it's not interesting enough.

I'll come back to you if I think of anything good.

[Reiji Neko Mitsukai]

Maybe Ramone could get crushed by his racks of paint in the back room? That way it would look like an accident.