The ramblings of a Nut who should be doing something else – Adelaide, South Australia

Prank War IV – You can’t stop the music!

Title: Prank War

Warm Rain Series

Author: Gumnut

6 – 8 Nov 2018

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: it was war.

Word count: 3215 (Part IV) – Total 5098

Spoilers & warnings: Virgil/Kayo, crackfic

Timeline: After ‘Home’ and before ‘The Proposal’.

Author’s note: This is total crack. I blame a combination of the lurgy that is messing with my muse and @vegetacide who inadvertently asked for it.

From this conversation

Nutty: Are you requesting a whump? 😁

Veggie: No.. Not me.. I want one with fluffy unicorns and rainbow farts.. Lol

Nutty: Really??

And here is the last of the crazy 😀 I hope you enjoy it 😀 I’m feeling much better now 😀

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

Prank War I – Rainbows
Prank War II – Jello
Prank War III – The Unicorn

Prank War IV – You can’t stop the music!

It started with
his alarm.

Usually Gordon
was woken in the morning to the slowly increasing sounds of the ocean, a little
whale song and a few waves crashing on the shore. It was a nice comforting way
to slowly ease out of sleep. It gave him energy. It got him slowly geared up
and into his morning routine.

AC/DC suddenly
screaming out ‘Big Gun’ at the full volume his alarm was capable of didn’t
quite have the same effect.

Gordon shot up
and fell out of bed.

The floor was
hard first thing in the morning.

As the song
played out, he rolled over on the floor groaning. Okay, okay, I’m up. He aimed
to turn it off. Somehow the alarm ended up in pieces on the floor.

Great.

He sat there for
a moment and let his heart rate slow and his circulation catch up. There were
only two possible reasons his alarm had done that…Virgil’s revenge…or,
well, yeah, Virgil.

Gordon took a
deep breath and stood up. He had no doubt there would be more. An altered alarm
clock just did not add up to alginate in the pool.

He had to admit
it. That had been some damn good revenge. It had taken days. Days. To get the
stuff out of the pool. And for a good part of it, Virgil had sat on the balcony
with a smirk on his face just watching Gordon dig it all out.

Alan had helped.
Gordon loved his little brother.

Virgil, however.

He twisted his
lips. Virgil was a challenge. Of course, the man was a loveable bear, and he
couldn’t resist poking the bear.

It had just
escalated recently.

Gordon reached
for his swimwear and frowned.

What was that
sound?

He made the
movement again.

The sound
happened again.

He grabbed his
swimwear and began to change.

The sound became
instrumental. Orchestral. Tuba? Trombone?

The theme from
Jaws.

Each time Gordon
moved, a strain from the theme echoed throughout his quarters. The faster he
moved, the faster the music. The slower he moved, the more paced and
threatening the music.

He looked about
the room, but couldn’t see anything obvious that could be following his
movements.

Experimentally,
he walked into the bathroom.

“I’ve got a
lovely bunch of coconuts…”

He yelped. It was
at full volume and threw him back into his bedroom.

Jaws resumed.

Okay, Virgil, you
smart ass, I’ll give you this, it’s creative.

Jaws followed him
into his living room and out into the corridor with his towel.

When he hit the
kitchen, the soundtrack switched to the Beatles and “Love Me Do.” Which wasn’t
too bad, he didn’t mind the occasional Beatles track.

Moving out onto
the patio, however, proved to be bit more of a challenge.

Italian Opera was
never really considered motivational for swimming or any other kind of
exercise. Between the smell of the slowly decaying alginate to the west of the
pool and the accompanying music, Gordon’s exercise routine was cut short.

Returning to his
room brought back Jaws, however his bathroom chose to sing ‘Agadoo’ during his
shower.

On loop.

By the time he
was fully dressed, he had just about reached his limit.

He activated his
comms. “Virgil?”

“The Thunderbird
you are trying to contact is currently unavailable. Please leave a message
after the…” And his comms let off an awful screech.

Okay, so he
jumped. He’d admit it. He was used to relying on the infallibility of IR
equipment. But then if comms was involved with this, then that meant…

John.

He tapped his
comms again.

“John?”

“You rang?”

Blink. “What are
you doing?”

“Eating
breakfast.” As if to prove it, there were some sloppy chewing sounds on the
line.

“Are you siding
with Virgil?”

“What do you
mean?”

“In the prank
war.”

“Is there a prank
war? Sounds highly unprofessional.”

Gordon grit his
teeth. “Which is why I’m finding it hard to believe that you are involved.”

“And what could
you possibly think I have done?”

“There is music
wherever I go.”

“Nope. That was
totally Virg.” There were more chewing sounds. And a belch.

“Ugh, gross.”

“Better out than
in.” Another burp. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“What? Are you on
something?”

“Thunderbird
Five, but I thought you knew that.” And then the line cut off

“John? John!”

“The Thunderbird
you are trying to contact is currently unavailable. Too bad, so sad, go eat a
lemon.”

Okay, that left
him trying to stare at his collar.

John was
definitely in Virgil’s pocket.

Jaws once again
followed him down the corridor, but upon entering the kitchen it switched to
piano music.

Virgil’s piano
music.

Kayo was sitting
at the breakfast bar with a bowl of fruit salad. “Good morning, Gordon.”

“Hey, Tin.”

He chose to
ignore the music, perhaps if he paid it no attention it would simply go away.

“This is truly a
lovely piece of music. Virgil is quite talented.”

Gordon grit his
teeth. “Yes. Yes, he is.” He dug the butter out of the refrigerator before
diving into the bread bin.

“This piece is
special.” An involuntary glance at his sister found her gazing somewhat
dreamily at the ceiling, her fork waving a chunk of pineapple on its tines.” I
was there for both the inspiration and the writing of this piece. It is written
so well, I can hear the waves on the beach, feel the sand between my toes, his
hands on my skin…”

Gordon dropped
his butter knife and it clattered across the floor.

“Virgil is very
good with his hands.” Tin’s smile was lascivious. “Of course, he does quite
well with the rest of his body as well.”

Gordon stared at
her.

“He has a very
nice tongue.”

Gordon fled.

But it got worse.

The moment he hit
the comms room, the music switched to the godawful ‘It’s a small world after
all’.

If there was a
song out there that promoted ripping ears out that was it.

“Ooh, I like this
one.” And to Gordon’s horror, Alan, who had been sitting on the couch playing
his computer game, started singing along.

“What? How? Whose
side are you on?!”

“Huh? It’s a cool
song.”

“It’s a horrible
song. How can you possibly-?” This had to stop. “Where is Scott?”

“In Bermuda.”

Gordon blinked.
“What?”

“He’s taken a
weekend and gone to Bermuda. Apparently, he has wanted to go for a while.”

“How could he do
that?”

Alan frowned. “He
deserves a break, Gordon.” He turned back to his game. “Big Bro hardly ever
gets to relax around here.”

“But what about
International Rescue?”

“Eh, we’ll
survive. Virgil and the rest of us are here.”

Virgil.

“Yes, and where
exactly is Virgil?”

“Dunno. Probably
still in bed. You know him, midnight to midday if he could.” And his brother
started humming along to the damn song again.

Aaargh.

Okay, okay, take
a deep breath. Get out of the house. “I’m going for a walk.”

“Cool.” Alan went
back to his game, still humming that damn song.

-o-o-o-

Gordon set off
along the cliff tops to the eastern side of the island, his shoulders still
tense, muttering under his breath. For the first few steps he revelled in the
sudden quiet, but just as he turned the corner, finally out of sight of the villa,
a train whistle echoed amongst the rocks.

And a kids choir
started singing.

We’ll
sing a song for Gordon

He’s
big, he’s fast, he’s proud

His
paint is blue, so strong and true

And
his whistle’s really loud

The
fastest train on Sodor

You
can’t forget his name,

So
when we’ve sung for Gordon, well

Let’s
sing it once again.

 

His jaw dropped. Oh god, no, not Thomas
the frickin’ Tank Engine!

And the song looped.

Awwwgh. He had fists full of hair.

Young Alan had absolutely adored that
damn program as a toddler, and when he discovered one of the engines had the
same name as his big brother…

Oh, the ear worms.

Gordon rubbed his face in his hands.

But he kept walking. Maybe he could out
pace it.

Halfway around the island, it faded out
and Gordon sighed.

Then Virgil’s voice echoed amongst the
rocks.

We’ll sing a song for Gordon

And torture his little ass

He comes in yellow, not so mellow

But in this war he’s last.

He is the biggest fish on Tracy

And you can’t forget his name

Because he simply will not let you

And he thinks it’s all a game.

But when you sing a song for Gordon

You have to know it’s true

He’s forgotten who he’s playing with

And big brother is two for two.

If he knows what is good for him

He will throw in the towel

And wave the flag of truce tonight

Before it gets really loud.

Gordon had just a moment to consider
that, yes, his brother could sing really well, before that too went on loop,
bellowing out from a series of loudspeakers amongst the rocks.

It followed him the rest of the
circumference of Tracy Island.

It wasn’t even ten am when he got back to
the villa (the pool had switched to the Beatles ‘I wanna hold your hand’ as he
walked through it) and already he felt he was going to lose it.

Jaws chased him up the staircases, but
when he entered his rooms, Dory started encouraging him to ‘just keep
swimming’.

Over and over again.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,
nooooooooo……

In desperation, he jabbed his comms.
“Scott?”

“The Thunderbird you are trying to
contact is currently unavailable. You’ve driven him insane and he has fled to
the Bermuda Triangle.” Twilight Zone music danced with Dory.

“John?”

“Yo?”

“What can I offer you to make this stop?”

“Make what stop?”

“The music!”

“Oh, you can’t stop the music…” And
John was singing another ear worm and his singing skill definitely wasn’t up
there with Virgil’s. “Nobody can stop the music!”

“Oh, for the love of god!”

“Is something wrong, Gordon?”

“I’m going to kill him.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.”

“I am. He’s had it. This is beyond the
rule book.”

“Nope. Sorry. Not going to happen.”

“Watch me.”

“Okay then. You might want to check out
your balcony.”

“My balcony?”

“Oh, yeah, baby.”

Gordon was attempting to stare at his
collar again.

“Go on, I haven’t got all day. Important
rescue calls to be sorted.”

Against his better judgement, Gordon
stepped through the double doors and out onto his balcony.

“The hills are alive with the sound of
music!”

Julie Andrews. Echoing across the Tracy
Island volcano.

“Take a look downstairs.” John was smug,
there was no other word for it.

On the side lawn, Grandma was twirling.

Twirling to Julie Andrews.

Gordon fled to Dory.

“Why, John?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you side with Virgil? You’re the
middle kid, the casting vote. What did I ever do to you?”

“I have a list, Gordon.”

“Really?”

“A long list.”

“Okay, but c’mon, I’m the prankster in
this family. It is to be expected. Before the pool, I don’t think he ever even
thought of pranking anyone.”

“Point One to the Virg.”

“Are you sure you’re not smoking
something up there?”

“Thunderbird Five is a non-smoking
habitat. Unless it is on fire.”

Blink. “Okay. You sure it is not on
fire?”

“You may be the prankster Gordon, but you
forgot one very important fact.”

“What?”

“Virgil is an engineer. A fully qualified
and creative engineer. And you pissed him off.”

Another blink. “Okay, you may have a
point.”

“Oh, and although traditionally Virgil is
the kind of guy who wouldn’t hurt a fly, he has a girlfriend who would be quite
capable of stringing you up by your eyelids.”

Now that was an image that hurt.

“So, you see, little brother, logic
dictates that if I want to keep my eyelids intact and my Thunderbird in one
piece, I’m sticking with the pissed off engineer.” A pause. “You are, of
course, welcome to join us on the not so dark side. All it takes is the waving
of that little white towel or flag. Do you have a white pair of underwear? I’m
sure Virgil will accept those if they are clean.”

“Where is he?” It was low, it was dark.

“Oh, where you won’t think to look.”

“John, you suck.”

“Such rumours, young padawan.”

Yet another blink and he shivered,
cutting off the connection.

So, Virgil was a smart ass engineer, huh?

There is more than one engineer on this
island, and the other one has a smarter ass!

Gordon grimaced at that thought. It
didn’t quite come out the way he had intended.

The music followed him down to Brains’
labs, alternating between two of the most annoying advertising jingles ever
composed.

The door to the labs was shut. It was
locked. It had a great big sign on it.

‘For the duration of the current
argument, these labs are a Tracy-free zone. Keep Out.’

Gordon muttered under his breath and
reached for the button to activate the door anyway.

A whirring of wheels and suddenly MAX was
in his face.

Glaring at him.

Gordon flung his hands up in defence.
“Okay, okay. I get the message.” Another threatening whir. “I’m going. I’m
going.”

As he turned around, Elvis started
crooning Jailhouse Rock.

Okay, so that one wasn’t so bad.

He stomped off to plan B.

The hangers and Thunderbird Four.

He never knew that the cavernous
Thunderbird Two hanger was so acoustic. But then it may have sounded better if
it wasn’t screaming ABBA’s Dancing Queen off all the technology housed inside
it.

He hated ABBA with a passion. It may have
had something to do with John liking it, a lot, all through yet another revival
during his teenage years. God forbid if it switched to Mamma Mia.

Which, of course, it did.

Virgil obviously knew him very well.

He clambered into Module Four, sighing in
relief as it closed and dampened the echoed out in the hangar. He then threw
himself into TB4, sealing her hatch behind him. Ah, blessed silence.

He closed his eyes and simply breathed
out.

“Badger, badger, badger, badger, badger,
badger, badger, badger, badger, badger, badger, badger, badger…”

It was so quiet, he didn’t hear it at
first, but it slowly increased in volume until it was just distinct enough that
he couldn’t ignore it any longer.

“Mushroom, mushroom!”

“Badger, badger, badger…”

What’s with the badgers?

“IT’S A SNAKE! IT’S A SNAAAAKE!”

Gordon yelped and almost fell out of his
chair. Oh god.

And it was badgering again.

It only took three more screamed snakes
to have him stumbling out of his little sub.

Okay, Virgil, I admit it. You’re good.

-o-o-o-

He went boating and snorkeling that
afternoon.

And discovered that not only had Virgil
rigged the boat, but he had also added music to the fishing equipment and his
snorkel and mask. How the hell he had managed that, Gordon had spent an hour
going over said mask and snorkel failing to work out how.

There may have been tears of frustration
at one point.

He spent the entirety of his boat trip
home ‘Row, row, rowing his boat gently down the stream’, but it wasn’t the
crocodile that made him want to scream.

By six o’clock he was ready to give in.
He had a headache, his ear worms were breeding in his brain and, for the love
of god, could he please have some peace and quiet?

John was useless.

Scott had migrated to another country.

Alan…Alan had disappeared. He would be
slightly worried, but this was Virgil, he had a moral code, and Alan was easily
distracted. Gordon himself had used candy in the past.

Kayo…well, her allegiance was obvious.
And her commentary on Virgil’s music…he so wasn’t going there again.

Brains was Switzerland. If Switzerland
had robotic defences and didn’t let anyone in.

Grandma was still excited about the
volcano spouting Julie Andrews. Who knew she would be such a fan. The movie had
been made over fifty years before she had been born.

That left Virgil the evil demonic
overload of all this musical hell.

And Shirley.

Gordon had managed to find one small
niche of the island that was music free. The small grassed area where they had
constructed a little pen for Shirley the pony. Obviously Virgil was above
torturing wannabe unicorns. He sat with Shirley for two hours while the
miniature horse chewed on his shirt.

Despite this, the music continued in his
head. Particularly that Thomas the Tank Engine torture device, except now the
original lyrics kept warping into his brother’s voice.

Surrender was apparently the only option.

So, it was with red faced annoyance,
temper and humiliation that he climbed the stairs to the residential areas and
knocked on Virgil’s door.

As John had said. It was the last place
he had looked.

Perhaps because that was where he knew he
would find him.

“Come in.”

The room was dark when he entered, lit
only by the lights in the corridor and some faint light from the long set sun.
The music of choice in the corridor had returned to its preferred Jaws theme.

“Close the door behind you.”

He did as he was told. And discovered the
second music free spot on the island. Oh god, blessed silence.

“Hello, Gordon.”

His brother appeared out of the shadows
by the window, his outline only lit by that pink sunset remnant. It made him
look large and mysterious. Far from the gentle artistic demonic overlord he
knew him to be.

“Please make it stop.”

“It already has.”

“What?”

You only had to come to see me to get it
to stop. I’m surprised you lasted this long.” He sighed. “In fact, it worries
me. Does this prank war mean that much to you?”

Gordon blinked. “What?”

“I thought we were closer as brothers
than a petty prank fest. That you would rather suffer than simply come and ask
me to stop…Gords, really?”

“It’s war.”

“You started it.”

“Yeah, that was hilarious.” A grin.

He didn’t need to see his brother’s eyes
to know he had rolled them. “For some.” A sigh. “Well, the fun is now over.”

“Why? I owe you big time, bro.”

He saw his brother move and suddenly the
room was filled with ‘It’s a small world after all.” Gordon flinched. “Okay,
okay, I get the message.” The music stopped.

“Anytime, Gordon, anytime, and it can all
start again. I have ABBA’s complete collection at my disposal.”

Disposal was the right word. He was going
to kill John.

“And it’s not John’s.”

Wha-?

“It’s Kay’s.”

Shit.

“Virgil, love, come back to bed.”

Speak of the devil, and Tin walked into
the room, turning on the light.

Gordon blinked. Virgil was shirtless.
Kayo was in a short, very short, negligee, a silky green one.

“Gordon, you’re staring.” Tin smiled that
same smile she had weaponised at breakfast, leant over and licked Virgil’s ear.

Gordon shuddered.

“I-I’ll be going.”

Tin smiled again. “You do that.”

“Virg?”

“Yes, Gordon.” He was kissing Tin’s nose.

“You win.”

“I know.”

Gordon fled.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

Leave a Reply