Steve Irwin: Angel Wrastler
(A Totally Respectful Fic in Memory of the Crocodile Hunter.)
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Disclaimer: I did not write this.
Any gentle fun poked herein is only out of fondness, and no insult is meant by it.
Warnings: Attempts to type with an Australian accent.
Steve Irwin, Crocodile Hunter, opened his eyes. Croikey, but that light was blinding. Odd dream, that, what with the stingray and the death and all, but that was what you got when you ate too many beans for dinner the night before.
He heard someone clear their throat, and pried his eyes open.
"Steve Irwin?" said a man in white. He was sitting behind a generous desk. Upon the desk was a neatly arranged folder, a flatscreen computer monitor, a picture frame, and a small plant. The man in white stroked his scraggly beard.
"G'day?"
"As in," the man checked the monitor, "Crocodile Hunter?"
"Yes, that's me, mayte."
The man flipped open the folder and peered at it in turn. "Won't you get off the floor? There's a chair to sit on, no need to lie about all day." The man gestured vaguely with his pen and a spindly ladderbacked chair appeared in front off the desk.
"Moind telling me where Oi am, mayte?" Steve asked as he picked himself up and dusted off his khakis.
The man looked up in surprise and blinked. "You're in Heaven, Mr. Irwin. Specifically just outside the Pearly Gates. I'm St. Peter. Sit down, man." St. Peter pulled out a few pieces of paper from various drawers and handed them to the Crocodile Hunter. "You need to fill out the lilac form, sign your name here, here, and here, check all the boxes that apply-- No, on the goldenrod colored one--The white papers are a comprehensive personality exam to tell us which of the Heavenly Rewards you would be best suited for, we've got quite a good range. And read the blue paper to make sure we've got all your Life Facts correct. Also, you can nominate someone back on earth for admittance to Heaven, that gets them 5% extra Forgiveness Of Sins. That's the pink form. Did you bring your own #2 pencil?"
*****
"Okay, follow me everyone!" cheered a woman who MUST have been a flight attendant when she was alive. "Over here we have the Endless Flowery Fields! Note the many happy souls frolicking about. It's quite relaxing. And then on your left, there's the Cloud Banks! Excellent for sunbathing, I practically live there!" The tour group looked askance at her paper-pale complexion.
"And if you come this way, just over this hill is Fiddler's Green! It's one of the more exclusive areas, you must have had to be either Irish, a fisherman, or a fiddler when you were alive." She smiled brightly. "It's where fisherman go if they don't go to That Other Nasty Place That We Don't Talk About! Heehee! The weather is always fair and there's dolphins in the sea. They have several nice pubs, the girls are pretty and the beer is all free, all sorts of nice perks!"
Steve raised his hand.
"Er. Yes, you in the back? We're really not supposed to take questions in the middle of the tour..."
"Just a quick one, ma'am. Are there any swamps? With, y'know, crocodiles? Or a boa constrictor, maybe?"
The tour guide wrinkled her nose in annoyance. "Are you trying to pull my leg or something? How rude, you should know better."
One of the women closer to the front murmered something.
"I quite agree with you!" the tour guide said shrilly. "Letting all sorts of insolent riff-raff into Heaven these days. MOVING ON!" She regained her shiny smile. "If you go up these stairs, you'll get to the third level of Heaven, where most of the angels and quite a few of the souls live. If you happen to go up farther than the Third, try not to get in the way, it's considered the Business District."
The tour meandered along down the marble way. Steve sighed. "Not a bloody swamp? And no crocs? Wot's the wo'ld coming to?"
******
Steve looked happily over a small group of people he'd recruited. There was the camera-man, holding a camera that they'd rented from the Artist's Heaven. And the microphone-woman, with the mic they'd borrowed from Singer's Heaven. And then a few people to cart around the various bits of equipment and props that they'd borrowed, bought, or leased. Like the lasso. And the water cooler. And the tranquilizer gun.
He turned, and peered through the bushes. And waited. And waited. The camera crew eagerly hung on his every un-twitch.
"Croikey, there's a big un! Quick, follow me!" Steve burst from the bushes and tackled his target.
"WHAT THE-- GET OFF ME GET OFF ME WHAT THE HELL-- OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD SOMEONESAVE ME IT'S A RABID SOUL!"
"This one's a spirited little bugger, innee?"
"Oh my GODDDD! GET OFF ME WHAT ARE YOU *DOING*?!"
"Lookit 'im fight! He's a right nasty one!"
The angel struggled, flailed, and continued to shriek its freak-outs.
"Naow, naow, settle doewn, Oi'm not gonna hurt you." The angel went limp. "There now."
"I'll scream rape," the angel threatened.
Steve ignored him. "Now, look closely at this critter." Steve managed to gesture the camera in closer without breaking his grip. "Isn't it a noice specimen, mayte?"
"LUCIEN!" The angel shrieked. "LUCIEN WHERE THE *:cens0r::cens0r::cens0r::cens0r:* ARE YOU COME GET THIS AUSSIE BASTARD OFF ME OH MY *GOD*!
"I'm not a nice specimen!" He continued to Steve. "I'm an ANGEL and my name is Lalael and if you don't get the hell off me I'll report you!" the angel snapped.
"Come 'round 'ere and take a look at his wings. It's clearly a male, you can tell by the pattern on the feathers--"
Another angel dropped out of the tree. "Lalael! What are they doing to you??" He shook his hair out of his eyes.
"Lucien! They're attacking me!" The angel flailed in Steve's grip again. "And they're talking about me and calling me a 'noice specimen' and they WON'T- LET- ME- GO!" The angel punctuated this last part with strong writhes.
"Ah, look, another one has heard this 'un's cries and has come to investigate!"
"I what?" Lucien asked, attempting to tug Steve's arms off of Lalael's neck.
"As you can see, they're quite social creatures. Oi'd bet that these two are a mayting pair!"
Lalael fell limp and Lucien stopped tugging at Steve's arm. "We're WHAT?!"
"These critters often have extremely strong family bonds, and, loike many other animals, they mayte for life!"
Lucien blinked incredulously and whimpered in confusion.
The other angel sank his teeth into Steve's arm and began flailing again. He broke free of Steve's grip. Lucien caught his wrist and they bolted, wings flapping laborously as they rose into the air and disappeared from sight. "Dija see that?" Steve asked the camera excitedly. "Sank his teeth right inta me! let's 'ave those bandages 'ere, then."
****
Steve was once again skulking behind bushes with the camera crew. They had laid a completely humane trap, using the classic lasso-over-a-tree-branch-and-covered-in-leaves technique, and were once again waiting for a specimen to come along.
Presently, another angel came meandering down the path. This one was golden all over, but for dark, inky hair, and pale grey eyes, which were fixed in fascination on a small fruit it held. Twenty seconds later, the angel was upside down in the air, and Steve was again chattering away at the camera.
As yet, the angel hadn't noticed its change in verticality.
When it did, by comparison, Lalael's shrieks and curses were mere whimpers.
"AIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEE WE SHAN'T TOLERATE SUCH DISGRACE!" it said, clawing the air near Steve's face.
"That was a close one!" Steve exclaimed.
"We shan't! The Angel Jocelin curses thee! Curses! AIEEEE LET US DOWN LET US DOWN FOUL MORTAL SOUL! We shalt smite thee!" Jocelin flapped its wings mightily.
"Croikey, he's even more vicious than the last!"
Jocelin fell still, and managed to tilt its head. "What's a he?"
"Again, let's look at the patterns on the wings. Huh, I must've been wrong, this one's definitely got more of a feminine color pattern."
"Tell us what a feminine is. We want to know."
"On the other 'and, it's got more of a masculine bone structure."
"Lalael would tell us."
"Mayte," Steve said, looking at the camera, "Oi think we may've found a little mutant! It seems to be completely genderless! And if it's that, the poor bugger's probably wandering around in pain from other mishaps of anatomy as well! 'owever, we don't have to worry, the others in the 'erd will taike good care of 'im, keep 'im comfortable."
"We think thou art strange. Let us down now. We tire of this silliness."
***
RIP
Steve Irwin
22 February, 1962 - 4 September, 2006
