Contents Warning: None, just plain old sillyness.
Music: bubblegum rock.
Author's Notes: Yeah, I'm really on a roll with these fairy tails, people. I know I should be writing something
serious, but it's just so much fun writing these.
Disclaimer: Oops, silly me, did I say they were mine? I didn't? Good, then I didn't lie. ;-) Throttle, Modo, Vinnie, Stoker, carbine, Harley and Rimfire belong to the creators of BMFM, whoever they are. All the SL characters belong to Decembergirl. But everyone else is mine. I made no money off this and I don't think I ever will. Bummer. ;-)
Thanks a bunch to Deeg for the lovable pic.

 

Cinderrimfire

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful mouse-woman and a handsome mouse-man. Normally, they would've lived happily ever after, but since they're not the main characters of the story, they didn't.
They did have a very cute baby boy named Rimfire. When Rimfire was seven, his father died. [Aaaaaaw!]

For four years, his mother raised him alone, but when Rimfire was 11, she finally gave in to her mother's whining that 'a boy needs a father, not just a mother' and remarried.
Her husband, Rimfire's stephfather, was a fat, ill-smelling man named 'Lawrence Lactavius Limburger' and had two sons: Greasepit and Karbunkle.

At first, everything went more or less well, but the next winter, Rimfire's mother died and he found himself at the mercy of his stephdad.

For 10 years, Rimfire had to put up with his stephsiblings' bullying and ordering him around.
He had to assist Karbunkle with his experiments, which somehow always turned out on burned fur for Rimfire.
He had to clean up after Greasepit, which was a neverending job because the guy kept dripping oil all over the place.
But his least favourite work was waiting on his stephdad. For some reason, the man preferred slimeworms over a nice hotdog and to make things even worse, he had the most hideous table manners.
At night, he had to sleep on the attic. Luckily, he had some friendship from the three little mice who lived there: Vinnie, Modo and Throttle. His only other joy was his bike, wich was old and worn out, but still rideable.

One day, it was announced all over the land that the prince would be giving a big ball for his 23rd birthday and that every maiden in the land was invited, because the prince would be choosing his wife among those present.

As soon as they heard that there were going to be hundreds, perhaps thousands of beautiful, young, unmarried girls in one place, Greasepit and Karbunkle wanted to go.

Rimfire couldn't blame them for wanting to go. Silently laughing at them for even thinking they had a chance was a whole other story, but for wanting to go, no.
He, too, wanted to go, but he didn't have the clothes for it. All he had was a pair of thorn jeans, dito shirt and worn biker boots. A sexy outfit, alltogether, but not something to wear to a royal ball. So he just shrugged it off and helped his stephbrothers with their clothes.

What he didn't know was that up in the attic, the three little mice were sewing busily. At least, two of them were. Vinnie had given up because the fur of his fingertips was now more red then white because of all the blood.
Eventually, after lots of cursing, swearing and yelling, they finished, just in time for the ball.

The night of the ball, Greasepit and Karbunkle had just finished dressing and were waiting for the large, purple limo to bring them to the ball, while Rimfire climbed the stair to his lonely attic.

There, he was surprised to see a complete biker's outfit lying on his bed. He put on the jeans, which were quite tight, because they hadn't had enough cloth to work with, the black T-shirt, which was just as tight, and the black leather jacket. Slipping into his boots, which had been completely repaired and polished until they shone, he thanked the little mice, rushed downstairs, jumped on his bike and rode off.

Unfortunately, after not even a minute, a large, purple limo passed him, suddenly swayed and bumped him and his bike against the nearest wall. Needless to say the bike didn't quite like that and decided to throw in the towel, round the last curve, blow out his candle, go to the big mechanic in the sky, join the choir of roars supernal, in short: this was one ex-bike.

To make things worse, his jeans got thorn, his shirt got mud splattered all over and on top of all that, his shoelace was broken.
Sad, Rimfire made his way back home and went into the garden.
He kicked at a few trees, said some words his mum wouldn't have approved of and finally sat down on a trunk, head in hands, sulking.

Just when he was about to start crying [despite the age-old adage that 'big bikers don't cry'], there appeared in a puff of sparkling smoke, a red-furred woman with the most voluptuous shapes Rimfire had ever seen.
He gulped as the smoke settled down and he noticed the clothes she was wearing were revealing more then they were hiding, and gulped even harder as she shook the dust off herself, causing her … um … 'personalities' to move in interesting ways.

"You Rimfire?" The woman asked.
"Uh-huh" he nodded, mouth hanging open, all capability for coherent speech suddenly gone the same way as his bike.
"I'm Bordeaux. I'm your fairy godmother."
"Uh-huh?" Words? What were words?
"I'm supposed to get you to that ball. So, let me see … The first thing we'll need to do is to repair those jeans …," she pointed.

**ZAP**
Suddenly, the black jeans were magically healed and even tighter then before.
"Then, of course, the shirt …"
**ZAP**
A new black shirt hugged his chest tight, almost blocking his bloodstream because it was so tight.
"Those boots could use a make-over, too …"
**ZAP**
Brand new biker-boots with silver bucles surrounded his feet.
"You'll need shades, too …"
**ZAP**
Said accessory appeard in his chest pocket.
"And last but not least, a bike." She pointed towards the nearest pumpkin and …
**ZAP**
There appeared a brand new, beautiful bike, black and silver, roaring with eagerness to get on the road, fuel tank full and helmet hanging on the wheel.
"And here's a new jacket." She handed him a black leather jacket with a white design on the back. It was a styled mouse-head with motor wheel bars coming out of it.

Rimfire finally snapped out of his reverie, accepted the jacket, put it on and got on the bike.
He took out the shades, put them on and smiled smugly at Bordeaux.

"So, how d'I look?"
She walked around him a few times, carefully eying every detail. "I dunno, there's something missing … Of course!" She snapped her fingers and pulled a pair of black leather biker gloves out of thin air. "Here ya go, these'll make the picture complete."

Obediently, he put on the gloves. "There," she said, satisfied, "Now you're all ready for the ball. Just make sure you get back by the time the clock strikes 12, 'cause my magic wears out then." She blew him a kiss and patted him on the behind. "Go get 'em tiger," she winked, and dissapeared in a puff of smoke.

Rimfire sat there, stunned for a moment, then shook himself and mumbled: "Ball. Right. Ball."
He put on his helmet, after all, you never knew if he wouldn't be hit again, and rode off into the sunset.

The sun had almost set when he arrived at the palace, and the ball was already in motion.
Prince Anakin was dancing with every girl present, of course not with all of them at once, that would be too much even for our playboy-macho-mouse. But he was dancing with at least three girls per song, flirting with every one of them, looking for the one that would be worthy of becoming his queen.

At the time our hero arrived on the scene, the prince was getting a little worried, because he had gone through most of the girls present and thus far, he hadn't met a single girl whom he could imagine himself married to.
And although the prince loved his life of lust and flirtations, he also realised it was about time to get married and settle down, have some kids to ensure an heir for the throne, get himself a queen who could reign in his place if he wasn't feeling well, stuff like that.

Anyway, on came Rimfire. Prince Anakin took one look at the tall, dark and handsome stranger who stood in the gateway, dressed in black leather jacket and T-shirt, black jeans that were so tight they must've hurt, black and silver biker boots, shades and black leather biker gloves.

His first reaction was: 'Wowness!'. His second reaction was: 'Ah, man, there go all my chances with the ladies!'. His third reaction was: 'Never mind the ladies, this one's mine!'

He went up to the stranger and asked him to dance. Rimfire was so shocked beyond belief that the prince would actually want to dance with him that he didn't protest.
They started to sway to the music, lost in each other's eyes and forgot about time, space and people around them.

However, people around him did not forget about them. All over the ballroom, young girls and boys [who had come to check out the girls] were staring at the dancing couple, some in shock ['**BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP**], some in denial ['This isn't happening. Must be some bad trip or something. This. Is. Not. Happening.'], some in horror ['I can't believe this! He's choosing a guy over me?'], some in digust ['Scuse me, coming through, pardon me, lady, but if I don't get to the restroom soon I'll puke all over your pretty dress.'], some in delight ['Oooow! How romantic!'] and a small group of young girls were very busy with pen and paper, taking notes and sketching as fast as they could, which was pretty damn fast.

They danced and danced and danced the night away and slowly, people started to snap out of their shocked states and start to dance also. But still neither one of them even spoke a word, let alone think about trivial things as time. UNTIL … [**danger music** Ta Ta Taaa ...]

Let's dance!

The big clock in the hallway started striking. Once, … twice, …
Rimfire remembered what the fairy godmother had said and rushed to the door. The prince tried to grab his hand, but all he managed to grasp was one of the gloves.

Rimfire hurried to his bike, hopped on and took off with screaming tires. He raced through the streets at a terminal velocity and just when he was just a block a way from his home, the bike turned back into a pumpkin and all his clothes turned to rags again. He sighed, got off of the pumpkin and walked the rest of the way home.
It wasn't until he reached his room that he noticed the one remaining glove. He took it off, put it under his pillow and went to sleep.

The next morning, it was announced that the prince would marry the person on whose hand the glove he found the night before would fit [*].
Limburger prepared his sons for the visit of the prince, who would personally come to try the glove on everyone. In order not to give the prince the wrong impression, he locked Rimfire up in the basement.

So when the prince came, he tried the glove firts on Karbunkle, whose fingers were too skinny to fit in the gloves, then on Greasepit, whose hands were way too big.
The prince was about to leave, when suddenly he heard a tiny voice.

"Hey!!!"
He looked around, but saw no-one.
"Down here, you bozo!"
He looked down and there he saw a cute little tan-furred mousy, waving and shouting at him.
"Hey, you by any chance lose this?" He pointed a little further ahead, where a grey and a white mouse were pulling a black biker glove towards him.

He picked up the glove, saw it matched the one he had, and asked the mini-mice: "Whose is this?"
They pointed him to the basement, he opened the door, saw Rimfire, immetiately recognised him and took him to the palace with him.

Four days later, they got married, ignoring several high politicians who claimed that a queen is supposed to be a woman. After all, what's the use of being a king if you can't marry the person you love?

Some of the really persistent ones were turned into fish by Bordeaux and used for the wedding banquet and all the other people lived happily ever after.


"That was fun."

"She really has a thing with guys in thorn clothes, doesn't she?"

"Absolutly. But then again, you do look good in that outfit."

"Not you too!" **groan**

 

 




Author's Note: The first one that says: 'OJ' get their own personal kick against the shin, got it? **glare**