Chapter Text
"When we last left off, Wordgirl was resting at Reginald's Regal Residence, fighting what seems to be a nasty cold."
Wordgirl lays on the sofa, humming the Pretty Princess theme song to herself. She fiddles with the ends of the quilt blanket in her hands, tapping her foot against the armrest.
"Now, Wordgirl, do you want to greet the viewers before we check in on the action?"
"Oh!" Wordgirl straightens up. "The episode’s starting? Oops. I guess I lost track of time." She smiles sheepishly, waving at the audience. "Sorry, guys."
"Don’t worry, I won’t be here for long." The Narrator says. His voice softens. "Actually, I wanted to wish you well.”
"You know, that really means a lot." Wordgirl smiles, looking touched. "I—ACHOO!” She grabs the handkerchief left on the table, blowing her nose into it. “I appreciate your concern."
"Hey, no problem, Wordgirl. Just hang tight and get some rest before your next scene, alright?"
A troubled look flashes on Wordgirl’s face, but it’s quickly replaced by another smile. She wraps the quilt blanket around herself in a cocoon. "I’ll do my best!"
--
"Wasn’t that cool? Just a few lines of dialogue, and bam! We’re onto the next scene. And good thing too, as it looks like The Whammer has already robbed the Fair City Bank."
"Oh, hey, weird voice in the sky!" The Whammer pauses in his steps. He points towards the bank’s entrance, then at the road, adjusting the bag of money over his shoulder. "Wanna help The Whammer escape?"
"Uh, no, thank you. You’ll have to find your own way." The Narrator says, then whispers. "Oh, shoot, where are The Butcher and Captain Huggy Face when you need them?"
The Whammer shrugs nonchalantly. "The Whammer’s just tryin’ to wham his way outta here." He puts the money bag down. "The taxi’s takin’ too wham long."
"Oh, I know!" The Whammer says. "If the taxi won’t come to The Whammer." He raises his large fists, preparing his energy to unleash his thunderous ‘wham’ attack. "Then the Whammer will wham it here. Yeah!"
The Whammer attempts to slam his fists, but he’s stopped when a long link of sausage ties them together. He looks up and meets the stern gaze of The Butcher.
"Huh?"
The Butcher takes a step back, and Huggy Face jumps from on top of his shoulders. When Huggy Face lands, he points an accusatory finger at The Whammer, and gives him an angry chirp.
"The Whammer doesn’t know what you’re sayin’, little doggy." The Whammer says to Huggy Face, before he turns his attention back to The Butcher. "Uh, hey! What did you stop The Whammer’s whammin’ for?"
"Wordgirl’s sick, Whammer," The Butcher says, crossing his arms. "I can’t let ya commit a crime until she feels better, so I’m gonna have to ask you to return that money where ya found it."
Huggy Face nods, letting out a noise of agreement.
The Whammer rapidly shakes his head. "No way, man! The Whammer worked hard for his money. If you want it back so bad…" He breaks the link of sausage, freeing his hands. "Then you’ll have to catch The Whammer. Yeah!"
Just like that, The Whammer grabs the money bag, throws it over his shoulder, and pushes past The Butcher. He leaps onto the street and runs, dodging the nearby cars.
"Meatball Mayhem!" The Butcher shouts as he attempts to shoot The Whammer with a flurry of meatballs. Yet, inexplicably, none of them manages to hit The Whammer.
"Uh, what do I…?" The Butcher scratches his head, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "I know!" He picks up Huggy Face, who yelps in protest, and throws him at The Whammer.
The Butcher misses The Whammer by a long shot, and Huggy Face lands face first on the sidewalk. Huggy Face pushes himself up from the ground and shoots The Butcher an annoyed glare.
"Oops." The Butcher sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. "Sometimes that works when Wordgirl does it, so I kinda thought…" He sighs. "Never mind. Sorry ‘bout that."
Huggy Face rolls his eyes, but nods, satisfied by the apology.
"Alright, let's do this." The Butcher cracks his knuckles. He turns his attention to the street, holding his hands out to unleash his next attack. "Burrito Blizz-" His eyes widen in realization. "Wait a second…"
The Whammer is gone.
"What happened?" The Butcher asks out loud. "How did Whammer get away so fast?" He shakes his head, palming his face in embarrassment. "Oh, man. Now I know how Wordgirl feels."
"Sorry, but we have to pad out the story somehow. If Wordgirl was able to catch criminals right away, we wouldn’t have very interesting episodes, would we?"
The Butcher's eyebrows knit in confusion. "What?”
"Heh. Never mind all that. You both have to catch up to The Whammer, right? Captain Huggy Face, can you help locate him?"
Huggy Face pulls out a locating device from nowhere. He presses a few buttons, then gives The Butcher a thumbs up.
"Wait a second..." The Butcher frowns. "You had that the whole time?" He rubs his face, looking down at Huggy Face. "We ran around the city lookin’ for The Whammer for nothin’?"
Huggy Face nods, giving The Butcher an apologetic chirp.
"Fine, it doesn’t matter anyway." The Butcher raises his arms in defeat. "Let’s get goin’ before The Whammer causes anymore destruction."
Huggy Face salutes The Butcher, before passing him the tracking device. The Butcher nods in thanks, holding the device in his hands and scanning it thoroughly.
"Says here that The Whammer’s at the grocery store." The Butcher says to Huggy Face, before slipping the device in his apron’s picket for safekeeping. "You ready to head out?
Huggy Face gives The Butcher two thumbs up, looking determined.
--
"Meanwhile, at Reginald’s Regal Residence, Wordgirl fights her illness all by herself. Where's help when you need it?"
Reginald rolls his eyes. He uses a ladle to scoop a bowl of soup from a large pot on the stove, then puts it in the sink. "What do you think I’ve been doing this whole time?"
"Uh, sorry. 'I'm just trying to give a little oomph to the scene. It’s part of the job, you know?"
Reginald raises an eyebrow. He picks up a glass of water and a spoon with his free hand, heading towards the living room. "What job? What scene?”
"Well-"
"Oh, hi." Wordgirl awkwardly waves at Reginald from the sofa, attempting a smile. She sits up, and nervously fiddles with her fingers. "Is that for me?"
Reginald scans the environment, and he suppresses a sigh when he notices the decorative pillows strewn about on the floor. "Yes, I made you chicken noodle soup. Will that suffice?"
Wordgirl nods.
"Good." Reginald walks towards the sofa, carefully handing Wordgirl the spoon with the bowl of soup. He puts the cup of water on a nearby glass table. "There’s water here if you need it."
Wordgirl nods in thanks. She inhales the scent of the soup, and her smile becomes genuine. "That smells really good." She grabs a spoonful of broth and sips it. "Ah. Just what I needed. Thank you.”
"You are quite welcome." Reginald says. He blinks rapidly, noticeably taken aback by the show of appreciation. He straightens up, clearing his throat. "I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything else."
"Wait!" Wordgirl pauses, looking embarrassed by the outburst. She runs a finger along the rim of the bowl in a circular motion. "Can you… stay here for a little bit? I’m used to having Huggy Face with me, and, well…"
"Hm..." Reginald taps on his chin, his brow furrowed in contemplation. "Fine." He lowers himself onto a French country accent chair, letting out a sigh. "I suppose I can humour you for awhile."
Wordgirl smiles. "Thank you!" She says as she claps her hands. She freezes, her embarrassment returning. "Sorry.”
"I don’t want to be a rude guest." Wordgirl nervously fidgets with her cape. "I just get a little antsy when I try to be still. Especially when…" Her voice lowers into a whisper. "I’m nervous."
A complex look crosses Reginald's face. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. He abruptly stands up, and before he leaves the room, he says to Wordgirl. “I’ll be right back.”
"Oh…" Wordgirl mutters, sounding hurt by the perceived rejection. "Okay."
Within a few minutes, Reginald walks back into the room with a small cardboard box in his hands. When he notices Wordgirl’s sombre expression, he tells her, "I brought you something that might help."
"Really?" Wordgirl perks up. She tilts her head, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. "What is it?"
Reginald puts the box down on the table and opens the flaps. A neatly organised pile of fidget toys is inside. Wordgirl brightens at the sight of them.
"These are so cute!" Wordgirl gushes, cradling her cheeks with her hands. She inspects the contents of the box and grins when she sees a Pretty Princess squishy. She points to it. "Can I see this one?"
"Of course," Reginald says, his voice relaxed. He picks up his own fidget toy from the box: a drumstick squishy. He plays with it, his expression softening. "Feel free to try any you'd like.”
"Thanks!" Wordgirl takes the Pretty Princess squishy and squeezes it in her hand. "I never seen this before! She looks so…" She lets out a giggle as the squishy expands. "Silly!"
"Yes, indeed it is. The Butcher bought these a long time ago. I used to scoff at the idea of using them, but…" Reginald smiles, looking wistful. "It does help."
Wordgirl puts the squishy back inside the box and picks up a fidget spinner. She flicks the blade and stares while it spins, looking mesmerised.
Reginald smiles. He picks up a pink unicorn squishy from the box and passes it to Wordgirl. "Try this," he tells her. "I have a feeling that you’ll like this one."
Wordgirl takes the squishy from Reginald and gazes at it, her eyes sparkling. "It's Angelface; she’s so, so adorable!" She squeezes the toy, and its horn lights up. "And she glows too!"
"Yes, actually-"
The sound of violins emerges from Reginald’s pocket. He holds up a finger, and answers his cellphone with a clipped greeting. Wordgirl raises an eyebrow, looking curious.
"What is it, sweetheart?" Reginald asks in a hushed voice. He pauses for a moment. "Is that necessary? I don’t know if-" He lets out a sigh. "Fine, I’ll give it to her."
Reginald passes the phone to Wordgirl, putting the conversation on speaker.
“Hey, Wordgirl.” The Butcher says, his voice serious. “How's everything?”
“Is… is there anything wrong?” Wordgirl asks hesitantly, her eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Did The Whammer get away? Did Huggy Face get hurt? You know I can-”
"It's okay, Wordgirl." The Butcher says, attempting to ease Wordgirl’s worries. "Ain’t nothin’ wrong. I just wanted to check in on ya, that’s all. You feelin’ any better?”
Wordgirl takes a long pause, nervously biting her lip. Reginald passes her the glass of water, and she takes a long drink it from it, before putting it back on the table.
“You alright, Wordgirl?”
Wordgirl sneezes a few times in her sleeve, and Reginald passes her the handkerchief. She blow her nose into it, then tucks it into her pocket, much to Reginald’s relief.
"Um, actually, I wanted to tell you guys something..." Wordgirl averts her gaze, absently squeezing the squishy. “I don’t think I have a cold or the flu. I think it’s something else.”
Reginald arches an eyebrow, but he and The Butcher remain silent, waiting for Wordgirl to continue.
"I've been feeling like this for a while now." Wordgirl confesses, sounding ashamed. “I’ve been nauseous and tired and achy all over. Sometimes I can barely get out of bed in the morning.”
“Sounds like you’re stressfuling out, Wordgirl. Have ya told your family how you feel?”
“Stressing out.” Wordgirl corrects. She shakes her head. "And I don't think they would understand. As far as they know, I’m just a ordinary girl. If I tell them what's going on, they would look into it further and…”
“Oh.”
"To be honest, I can’t remember the last time I had the chance to relax." Wordgirl admits. She places the squishy back in the box. "I love being Wordgirl, but it’s a busy job. You know?"
“I…” Reginald frowns. "I apologize for giving you a hard time whenever things went wrong," he says softly. "You didn’t deserve it. None of it was your fault."
"It wasn’t really anyone’s fault," Wordgirl says. She picks at the cardboard on the box. "I know it's more complicated than that." She lets out a sigh. "I just I wish I had more time, I guess.”
"It’s my fault, ain’t it? Not lettin’ you be a kid." The Butcher says quietly, his voice heavy with guilt. "If it wasn’t for me, ya wouldn’t be fightin’ crime so much."
Before Reginald and Wordgirl have the chance to say anything in response, The Butcher continues to speak. "Enjoy your time off, Wordgirl. I promise I won’t let ya down.”
And just like that, The Butcher hangs up, leaving Wordgirl and Reginald speechless. For a long moment, the room is silent as a library, before a voice chimes in from above.
"Well, that sure was an eventful scene, wasn’t it?" The Narrator says. "Your speech got me teary eyed, I admit. You could say that it left me feeling… stupefied.”
“Not you again.” Reginald runs his hand down his face, looking positively exasperated. "Do you have any sense of privacy?"
Wordgirl lets out a laugh, rubbing her eyes. "Welcome to my world," she jokes. "I would say you get used to the constant narration, but…"
"Well, excuse me. I think my commentary adds flavour to the show.” The Narrator says, mock offended. "And speaking of, tune in next time for the action-packed episode of…"
"Let me guess…" Reginald drawls. “Wordgirl?”
"♫ WORDGIRL ♫"
"Ah, there it is. So satisfying."