Hidden Talents - Vinnie
I do not own Biker Mice from Mars and make no profit what so ever from this story. Its intention is only for the entertainment of fellow BMFM fans and no other.
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Hidden Talents:
Caelure, Vinnie
By Nikata
November 30th - December 10th, 1998
Copyright 1998 Nikata, all rights reserved.
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The sun shone down on the city of Chicago like a candle in the night of despair. What with the poor condition of the city, the sunlight was the only salvation that the collection of run-down buildings had to warms its concrete soul. Shafts of light highlighted areas of the city that many of its habitants would rather not know about or even acknowledge, due to the general appearance and atmosphere they gave to those visiting the Windy City. It was not the fault of the city or its inhabitants that the place of their origin stood in such desolation. The fault lay entirely at an otherworldly force.
That 'otherworldly' force lat at the hands of one Lawrence Limburger, part-time business man and all time enemy of freedom and justice. Limburger, as he was known as, was not human. In fact, under an elaborate facemask sat the true face of evil - Limburger was in fact from a race of fish, called Plutarkians, whose only goal was the total conquest of the galaxy to feed the overpopulated planet of Plutark, the centre of the Plutarkian Order. Limburger was one such arm of Plutarkian influence, but one of oh so many.
However, even a creature of Limburger's overwhelming evil, and body odour that was common in the species, even he had his problems. And his problems came in a factor of three; the Biker Mice From Mars, a trio of freedom fighting mice from Mars, which at this time was under Plutarkian control, though they were fighting back for that control.
The Biker Mice had egos to fit their courageous behaviour. Never one to see injustice done to the innocence that always got in the way when evil raised its ugly head and tried a scheme to destroy, they protected innocent people with great cost to themselves.
First off is Throttle, tan-furred leader of the trio who always wore green shades because his original eyes had been taken and replaced with bionic ones. Though they did sometimes get on his nerves, he never told anyone, less to weigh his burden onto undeserving shoulders. He is more quite then Vinnie, more thoughtful then Modo and a natural born leader.
Then there is Vinnie, the white-furred joker of the pack and with an ego that could make even a politician have to go in for a makeover. Always going on about how good he is and that he is the best at everything and that no one could beat him, it seemed he could never ever be serious. Having half his face ripped off and hidden behind a mask did nothing to dent his pride, but in fact help fuel it. But on occasions he was and that was when he was truly better then most.
Finally there is Modo, the grey-furred force behind the trio. Tall in height, large in muscles and strong in strength and stamina, it would appear on a first glance that he was all muscle and no brain. True he is a little slow off the mark, but he is not at all dense. In fact he can absorb vast amounts of information and learn a great deal, but never having to show off like his smaller bro Vinnie. A great carer of children and respectful of women, he is everything that a female would want out of a partner.
It was on a particular day in mid July that the mice were coming back to their second home in the city of Chicago. When they crash-landed in the city, they had made up base inside the scoreboard of the nearby sports stadium of Quigly Field. But they spent most of their time at the Last Chance Garage, a mechanics run by Charlene Davidson, known as Charley to her friends.
Charley was one of the few humans who knew of the truth if the situation concerning the ever growing threat of Plutark against Earth. Headstrong and a will that was unbeatable, she is a female to be reckoned with. Though put down as a 'female' and a 'innocent citizen', she had proven her worth to the Biker Mice on more then one occasions, all those times surprising them.
As usual Charley heard the roar of the three bikes as they approached the garage; It was a sound she could recognise even in her seem, the sound now engraved into her memory so deep that she doubt she could ever forget it. Just as they came towards the double garage doors she hit the open button. Just in time as the three bikes pulled into the garage, shutting off their engines. The Biker Mice were well known for not nothing hoe to use doors properly, and having a thing about bursting through them. Martian Mice are such creatures of habit.
"Hiya Charley-girl," called Throttle, dismounting his black bike and taking off his helmet. "Are those hot dogs I can smell?" He sniffed the air with the ease that was common in his species. His nose told him true.
Modo put his helmet down on his blue bike and walked towards the kitchen; he was a great lover of food. "Hot dogs and root beer, just the thing to make this mouse happy."
"And heavy metal music, courtesy of the baddest mammajamma this side of Mars," chorused Vinnie, taking a slick black radio out of the side compartment of his red bike, though draping a piece of cloth over something inside, hiding it from view. Plugging it in, he switched the mice's favourite radio station on Earth; Sweet Georgie Brown. "Ahhh, life doesn't get much better then this," Vinnie sighed with content. For his words he got jabbed in the side with a pointy finger.
"It could," Charley said, the source of the jabbing finger, "if one of you hot dog gloated mice would, for once, help around here." Vinnie put his arm around her and lead her to the kitchen.
"But if I did that I'd spoil my good looks. And you wouldn't want that would you?" Charley refrained from commenting.
However, she didn't complain when Vinnie pulled out the chair for her and helped her to her seat at the table. Nor when Modo passed her a plate, or when Throttle offered the choice of the first hot dog and bottle of root beer. There were times when these three furry jerks could be such gentleman. Or was that gentlemouse?
Soon all the food was devoured and all the drink gone, leaving three contented mice and one human sitting at the table. It was at times like this that they all felt like one large family, sitting down at the table talking. Though it was mostly Vinnie talking about himself, the principle was the same.
As Charley cleared away the table, putting the leftover food in the bin, not there was much, and placing the plates into the sink for washing, the three mice returned to the main garage. The battle with Limburger left them with some empty missile launchers and other little repairs that needed to be done. It was a job that needed to be done, and one that the mice were very good at doing.
But one particular mouse did not start maintenance. Modo, instead of getting out his tool kit and get down to tightening more bolts, put on his helmet and fired up his engine, much to the surprise of his two bros.
"Where you goin;' big fella?" asked Throttle, looking up from the engine of his bike.
Modo looked up and for a second Throttle could have sworn he saw an uneasy look in the mouse's single eye. "Ahh, just wanna check out my bike's engine performance. Won't be too long." With a wave he rode out the garage, leaving just as Charley came to see what all the noise was.
"Where'd Modo go off to?" she asked. Vinnie shrugged and got back to work.
Throttle answered her question. "Don't know babe, said something about his engine." He stared out of the garage door, pulling his shades down. "I wonder what he's up to."
Charley stared at the door a little while longer. It wasn't often that one of the mice would ride out on their own. Only if to pick something up, like root beer. With Limburger a constant threat, it was always best if they stuck together. You never knew when he would strike.
Half an hour later, the whirr of an electric screwdriver that had been sounding for a while now suddenly ceased as Vinnie got up, placing the said tool back onto the workbench. Putting the side panel back onto his bike, he placed his helmet, sitting on his bike and firing up his engines. Again this caused Throttle to look up and over to his white furred bro.
"Where you are off to?" Throttle asked, placing the drill on his bike.
"To test these modifications out," came Vinnie's answer. "Don't wait up." Before Throttle could say anything Vinnie roared out of the garage, going the opposite direction that Modo had gone. Charley, again, had heard the roar of the engine and had come down to investigate, finding the only mouse present to be Throttle.
"Where'd Vinnie ride off to?" she asked, answered by the shrugging of Throttle's shoulders.
He replied, "Beats me. I wonder what those two are put to?"
The city was a mess but to Vinnie it held a beauty unlike any that people would usually acquit with to Chicago. Maybe it was because back on Mars all the cities had been destroyed, or maybe because those still standing were in the same state. Earth was like Mars was in some respects, though it could never take the place of Mars ever in his heart. Home is where the heart is and his was on Mars even if he and his body were on Earth.
He thought he would just drive lazily around the city for a while but found his direction being pulled Southwards and out of the city. On the freeway he became one with the road and the journey was that of harmony. Perhaps he was used to travelling but he always got a calm from just simply riding freely without goal. Or did he, for he seemed to be going in some direction.
He passed cars and trucks, them being a blur to the speed he was doing up the road. No one bothered since he was well within the speed limit, but still seeing a red blob suddenly rip past them was certainly strange. But they assumed it was simply a biker out for a leisurely drive and so no one was too worried about his high speed.
Up ahead there was a turn off. Swing the bike around he tore off the highway and down the road. It was a small back road, one that hadn't seen too much traffic due to the dirt that had been blown across. It was a world away from that of Chicago, buildings having been replaced with trees and open fields, large farms and even animals. It was like the countryside in a state that was famed for its natural resources.
Turning down another small road Vinnie arrived on a primitive parking area with was no more a dirt area framed by healthy looking grass. Switching off his engine and dismounting, Vinnie took off his helmet and took a deep breath. The air was clean and filled with the scent of nature, no hint of industrial pollution or sickness. Around him nature thrived in a way it could never do in the city.
In front was a great expanse of green that undulated with small hills and dipped into small vales. A little ways in front was one particular hill that looked more inviting then the rest. On top sat a tree, its branches stretching out with its green fingers, creating a dark shadow that was more inviting then anything else. It was a relief from the hot rays of the sun that touched the areas and enveloped it with its warm touch, though it was a touch of love to this green place.
For once in a long time Vinnie was calm in a way that no one could ever though was possible for the velocity atrocity that he was. The mere presence of nature acted upon him in a way that it hadn't in a time that seemed so distance. He was happy in way he never thought possible before. This is way he'd some here. Ad while her was he it was time to put his talent into practice.
Opening the compartment of his bike, he pulled back the cloth that he'd draped over some objects in side, though this time he took them out. It was a block of wood and a carving knife, the handle ornately decorated with Martian runes. It was a knife that had been passed down from one Van Wham to another. Now it was his and he used it as those before him had done.
Sitting down below the tree, bike in sight though he there was no danger here in the confines of nature, he leant against the tree, resting against the ancient bark. Looking up, he wondered what he would create. Nothing seemed to spring to mind, but that was until something landed on one of the out stretched branches. A small bird, a bright blue colour with a white breast. It sat there and seemed to look at him, questioning his appearance. It began to sing a song of comfort and Vinnie now knew what to make. Slowly he applied the knife to the wood and with a scrape he sliced off a little bit off wood.
Vinnie was a sculptor.
It was this talent that had been passed down from one Van Wham generation to another, a talent that had almost ceased with the war, but he had kept it alive. His father had taught him the talent. As he carved he smiled at the memory. At first he protested against it, saying it was uncool to make silly models from wood. But his father had been persistent and for that Vinnie was forever glad. Now he was the sculptor of the family, taking after his father.
Then the war came. With wood growing ever scarce, Vinnie soon realised that he couldn't afford to explore his new found talent. And when his father went missing in action he knew there would be no more time to develop under his watching gaze and helpful hands. It had to explore it on his own. So every chance he could he would make a small model, widen his talent until he was almost as good, though never as good, as his father.
All this time that Vinnie had been going down memory lane the little bird sat and chirped. It was as though it knew it was a model for creation. Every now and then it would stop and look at the white mouse sat on the ground, back to the tree, one leg stretched out in front the other bent at the knee. In his hands was a little block of wood that was slowly coming to life. The bird would look for a minute or two then continue with its song. All the while the sun took its path in the sky as time raced on. But to him under the tree, time was at present a meaningless concept.
Vinnie took his time over the wood. One rule his father had taught was that it could never be rushed and that to create a perfect model out of wood it would take time. Vinnie wasn't the one for patience but for this and for his father had developed a degree of patience. The knife cut into the wood, carving away little bits of wood, making the basic shape. He thought back to what his bros would think of him, doing something that they would see as 'un-macho'. Sure, it maybe that, but for once Vinnie didn't care. But still he would rather them not find out all the same.
Slowly it took shape. From a small block wood it was actually taking shape. Slowly but surely to form that was being applied to it began to grow. Vinnie took time over the shape, wanting it to be perfect. He wanted this to be his best piece ever, a tribute to his father. Something that, had his father been there now, he would have smiled upon and said what a good job his son was making.
All this time Vinnie worked with his right eye shut. He did this because it would give him only on view of the wood, not a duel conflicted one. It would balance out the carving. His father had taught him many facts and rules when he was showing Vinnie the way to sculpt.
With that in mind, and other things his father had taught him, he slowed down his hand and his mind, taking time over the knife as it embedded itself into the wood, slicing off more wood flakes and creating a small island of wood around his hips and over his trousers. He didn’t mind as long as the model his was making did look like what he wanted it to be. If beating Limburger constantly was possible, then anything was. He wanted to prove to himself that he could make a model that was just as good as his father's. Though he would never want to out beat him for he knew that in this area he could never.
Soon the shape was made but it still was uncompleted. With little scrapes Vinnie took of unneeded wood, defining the overall shape. Little flakes of wood came off, and soon the shape was appearing more then it had ever done. After such a long time of carving, concentration, and overall, patience, the model was complete. Rubbing it down with the handle of the knife, he held it up. It was a perfect recreation of the little bird that had kept him company all this time.
It finished its song and took flight, flying down and perching on Vinnie's knee. It looked at him thoughtfully, tilting his head. It moved its head and looked at the wood model. It chirped its approval, staring at the model. Vinnie couldn't help but reach out and stroke the small head of the bird on his knee. It didn't move or take fright, but let the large mouse stroke his little head. It chirped a happy sound, then took flight and flew up high, singing as it went. It flew into the distance until it could no longer been seen. Vinnie waved as it flew off, free and happy.
This was a happy time for Vinnie. Away from the city and away from the fighting, he could feel himself finally letting go. It was such a long time since he'd allowed himself to do so. Laying down, he stared at the sky through the branches of the tree. The sun light twinkled through gaps in the leaves, creating patterns of light in front of Vinnie's eyes. Placing the knife and bird model down to one side, his crossed his hands over his stomach and slowly, but happily, he drifted into the world of slumber.
Little birds of all colours landed on the tree. They stared down at the large mouse laying below them, asleep, one with his surroundings. It was not often that one from such a distance could be at home in such a strange environment. But when one such as he was used to beauty, this was a home from home.
The little birds sang a chorus, hoping from one branch to another. Some even took flight and landed on the red bike that was parked not far from the tree. They hoped about, singing and watching, keeping vigilance over the sleeping mouse. The watchful eye of Mother Nature, through the little bird, was rewarding he service to nature. He would come to no harm.
Time passed and the sun had made its journey far across the sky. >From his sudden slumber Vinnie arose. He was refreshed from his sleep. Normally he would have been worried that someone might come across him but this fear was on existence at this moment in time. Getting up, he stretched the sleep out of his muscles. And that was when he saw the birds. There were many of them, perched in the tree and on his bike. He would have been angry for they might have scratched the paint. But he wasn't. They had been watching over him, keeping him safe. And for that he was grateful.
Seeing that he was awake they took flight. Not from fear but because their work was down. Like a cloud of living goodness they flew into the distance, making intricate patterns with their flight. Vinnie watched them go, then gathering up his things he turned to his bike. Placing his helmet on, he was about to mount the bike when he heard a sound.
He sensitive ears led him to the place. Vinnie wasn't sure what sound was but he had a good idea. Walking over a hill he saw what the sound was and that he was right. Standing at the bottom was a small child, a little girl dressed in some kind of farm type clothes. In the distance was a large farm where she must have come from. The little girl was crying and Vinnie instantly felt sorry.
She looked up when a large shadow fell over her. Her sorrow was too great for her to afraid of the stranger. Beside, she wasn't afraid of him. Vinnie got down on one knee, going to her level. "What's wrong?" asked in a smoothing voice.
She held up a toy man. It was out stretched arms, but one had broken off. "My toy broke," she said through sobs. Vinnie felt so sorry for her, a toy that she obviously loved and it was broken. If only… his hand went to is pocket and took out the little bird. It seemed so right. If there was one thing his father had said, being a sculptor was not just to give pleasure to yourself but to others as well. He would have been proud of his son for his actions now.
"Here," he said, placing the bird into the girl's hand. She looked at it, stroking the smooth wood with her fingers, a large smile spreading over her face. Happy that he'd given the child joy, Vinnie got up and walked back to his bike. He started up the engine and taking a glance over his shoulder he saw the little girl waving at him. He waved back and then roared off leaving a dust cloud in his wake. The little girl watched for a second longer then happily skipped back to the farm, her home.
