Wonder World!TM
Wonderday
(That's Friday)
April 11 2025
9:00 AM WWST
Your name is Dr. Isabel Helga Anastasia Parvati Wondertainment, V.
You are President, CEO, and CCO of Doctor Wondertainment Incorporated, and Big Boss Lady.(The role is purely ceremonial. There is no whimsy in governance, after all. You have Mr. Mayor to do all of that for you!) of your own little corner of the Mnemosyne Expanse called "Wonder World!TM".
And you're dealing with the one thing you dread facing.
A creative block.
You lean back against the purple swivel chair, which squeaks from exertion, and look towards the big big window of your office.
The smiling sun of Wonder World!TM beams delicious rays of lemonade-y light down onto your sprawling headquarter and the beautiful town it overlooks. The rainbow ficuses that flank either side of the glass pane dance to a silent tune, basking in the warmth and taste of the nutrients the star you created gives.
Such sights surely should have sparked some inspiration in you…
… But they haven't!
A frustrated whine slips past your lips before you can stop it, the hurried clamp of your hand - partially obscured by your favorite (if oversized) technicolor coat - against your mouth coming moments too late.
Dang it! you think to yourself, crossing your arms against your chest while a pout forms against your lip. This won't do! Won't do at all!
You're the face of Wondertainment as a whimsical empire! You're supposed to be a source of inspiration and awe! The inherent joy of creativity, personified!
You're not supposed to feel this executive dysfunction! How heartbroken would people be, if they found out that even you felt the bubbling frustration…
The gnawing anxieties…
The mind-numbing void of Doubt that came with not being able to Have An Idea?
A cute yip, and then a sudden weight against your lap, distracts you from your thoughts.
Looking down, you see your Welsh corgi companion, Jeremy — Well, one of them; even you have trouble keeping track of them sometimes! — staring up at you with big, brown puppy-dog eyes. He lets out a worried whimper as he splays his pawsers against your knees, headbutting your torso with his cold nose.
Your bad mood ebbs away, and you give Jeremy a smile.
"Hi, puppa," you greet him, reaching behind his big ol' golden ears and giving them a few scritches. His tiny lil tail wags and thumps against your left knee in appreciation. "Mama's okay; she's just having trouble with her job."
Jeremy tilts his head at you, his tail still going at it like a propeller plane ready for takeoff. He places a paw against your hand, making a noise that you know means "Play?".
"I can't, Jeremy," you say with a pained sigh. "I have to think of something for our next lineup by tonight, and that means no distractions!"
A series of heart-tugging whines leaves his throat, his eyes becoming more pleading.
Your thin brow scrunches up in thought, and you wheel your chair towards your office door before pushing it open with your foot.
"Emma?" you call out.
"Yes, Miss Isabel?" the chipper voice of Emma Aieselthorpe-Brown - your faithful assistant-slash-secretary - responds from her desk, looking up curiously from her Wondertainment Whimsytop.(A purple laptop with your logo on it, powered by the innate marvel of technology's potential instead of boring things like "RAM" and "SSDs"!).
"Please cancel all of my calls for the day," you say to her, releasing Jeremy from your lap, watching him run excitedly towards the now-confused woman.
"But ma'am, you… don't have any calls scheduled today," she informs you with some worry.
You roll your eyes, feeling a smile against your lips. "So make up some calls, and then cancel them!" you suggest with a giggle. "And then take your break early," you finish, gesturing towards the dog that currently has both paws on Emma's right knee, stubby tail wiggling in excitement. "Jeremy needs his playtime!"
A normal assistant would probably balk at such requests.
But no one in Wonder World!TM was "normal". Otherwise, the name would be false advertising!
"Right away, Miss Isabel," Emma chirps, letting Jeremy hop onto her lap as the brunette begins typing away in the scheduling application.
You give an appreciative smile her way, before rolling backwards towards your desk.
Your left leg sticks back out at the last possible moment, your foot pressing against the cherry oak and stopping your chair dead in its tracks.
Success!
You spin a triumphant 180°…
… And then immediately that good reverie fizzles out like a flat soda, your eyes set upon the blank papers and violet ballpoint once more.
Rats.
You hunch back over the desk, and tap the end of the pen against your cheek, your tongue sticking out the side of your mouth while your brow bunches up once more.
Something sports-related? No no no, too masc-dominated; need something unigender, you begin to think, idly scribbling a "cool W" on the corner of the paper.
Something to do with horses? That's been popular with all genders recently. You ponder for a moment, tip of the pen nearly touching the parchment to begin writing…
And then you stop, shaking your head.
No no. Tried that before; all the magical horse manure…
You shudder and shove that thought in the back of your mind.
You groan again, balling your tan hands against your cheeks. Think, Izzy, think! You've never missed a deadline before.
…
Wait.
…
Missed a deadline.
…
…
Missed a.
…
…
…
Mister!
"Aha!"
Of course! You could make a new collectors' line of Misters!
After all, the Foundation might be making their own. But a genuine Wondertainment Mister's charm could never be replicated!
Invigorated and stimming with a tapping foot, you begin jotting down a preliminary little message.
Wow! You've just gotten a member of the Universal Little Mister Collectors' Line! Infinite worlds? Infinite possibilities!
Collect them all to become Mister Multiverse!
- 01. Mr. Cowpoke
- 02. Mr. Starstruck
- 03. Ms. LLM
- 04. Mr. Polar
- 05. Mr. Ascension
- 06.
…
You stop, frowning.
Yggdrasil possesses a lot of branches, sub-branches, and entanglements.
You'd have to make hundreds… thousands… hundreds of thousands of Misters to fully encompass them!
That would oversaturate the market! And be expensive as heck!
Even a Toon like you didn't have infinite money on hand!!
What's the point?, you feel the Doubt quietly hiss in the very back of your mind.
Sighing, you take the piece of paper off the sheaf. You start sliding it towards the shredder…
And then stop yourself.
You look towards the pneumatic tube system by your desk.
The Random Universe Mail Shoot, or RUMS.
(Forced acronym? Maybe. But you couldn't think of a better one, so it stuck.)
… You don't have to let this idea go to waste.
You can let one of the other Wondertainments build off of it!
Grinning, you roll up the purple stationary and wheel over towards the contraption Mr. Brass helped you construct. You pop the cover, which lets out a hiss of compressed air, and place the document into the tube's container. You shut the cover firmly - making sure you hear the CLICK - and wait a few moments.
Three seconds later, you hear the pipe rumble, and the container rocket upwards with a SHUP, so fast you're barely able to register its speed!
Waiting until you no longer hear the rattling above your head, you nod to yourself and come back to your desk.
Okay, so those Mister ideas didn't pan out!
But you're not deterred.
You should be.
You start jotting down on the next piece of paper.
Wowzers! You're now in possession of one of your very own Mistercores, a limited edition vibe and aesthetic-based line of Little Misters!
Collect them all to become Mister Wavecore!
- 01. Mr. Vaporwave
- 02. Ms. Cottagecore
- 03. Mr. Low and Mrs. Poly
- 04. Mr. Weirdcore
- 05. Mr. Cassette Futurism
- 06. Ms. Sparkly
- 07.
…
No no no, that won't work, either!
These things wax and wane all the time, sometimes within a single day!
Who knows how difficult it'll even be to market some of these?
Not to mention how difficult it'll be to narrow down which aesthetics to make a Mister off of!
Wondertainment will never sell a Miss Traumacore, thank you very much!
You should have taken up that offer… the Doubt sadistically whispers, the taste of static like rotten Pop Rocks against your tongue.
You swallow with a grimace.
No.
You made your thoughts on that very clear when…
THUNK
The RUMS container has returned from… wherever it went.
Huffing, you go back towards the system, unseal the cover, put the paper in, and send it off once more.
CLICK!
SHUP!
How long can you keep offloading your ideas onto others?
You let out another groan, and return to your workstation.
Okay, enough messing around! you think to yourself! Time to lock in!
You're wasting your time…
Holy cow! You got yourself a Genre Mister! Perfect for reading a good book with!
Collect them all to become Mister Genre!
…
Too derivative!
THUNK!
CLICK!
SHUP!
You keep rushing.
Wowee! You're now the proud owner of a Gaming Mister! Which style are you nostalgic for?
Collect them all to become Mister Video!
…
Too much R&D work!
THUNK!
CLICK!
SHUP!
Your need for validation will consume you whole.
Groovy! You're procured a Generational Mister ! All days are the good ol' days in someone's eye!
Collect them all to become Mister Generation!
…
Too Gregorian (and possibly problematic)!
THUNK!
CLICK!
SHUP!
You'll never be able to realize these ideas to their fullest potential.
Wow, congrats! You have been granted an exclusive part of Doctor Wondertainment's upcoming Little Misters sub-series, GOI Misters !
Get ready to collect them all and become Mister Interest!
"AAAUGH!"
This ran into the same issue as the Universal Misters!
There are just too many dang Groups running around in this universe alone!
And some of them you definitely don't want to associate with the brand.
Especially that creep at Westhead—
"Hey there, champ!"
You suddenly feel static permeate around you, followed by the whine of a CRT television.
You spin around, and see Steamboat Willie playing on one of your many leisure screens clustered in the corner by your office door. The jovial mouse himself being front and center.
Only "Willie" isn't doing his jaunty whistle at the ship's helm.
He's staring directly at you. Grinning with too many teeth, his hands behind his back, and his neck turning at a 90° angle with a warbling but no less sickening crunch.
"You should be careful with your thoughts!" "Willie" chides you, the voice grainy but unmistakably not that of Ol' Walter's. "You never know what might be listening!"
This is your second chance…
Your hands grip against the armrests of your chair, all pleasantries drained from your gaze.
"I thought I told you you weren't welcome here," you say, words clipped. The possessed rodent only lets out a mirthless chuckle and wags a finger at you.
"You never formalized that," the parasite puppetering the animation icon sneers at you. "So I'll come and go as I please, missy…"
You're going to push them away, like you always do…
Your knuckles whiten, very un-whimsical thoughts zipping through your mind as the amused snake smirks at you.
"What. Do. You. Want?" you grit out, which only seems to make the parasite more emboldened. A dull, unmelodic hum leaves its puppet's lips, and it steps closer, hands pressed up directly against the glass barrier.
Television snow distorts where its fingertips rest.
"Oh, nothing too grand. Just a small little deal I have on offer." The faux-affable words leave the mouth that doesn't belong to it like crunching glass, making your hair prickle upwards.
TAKE IT!
"And I'll tell you what I told you last time," you say coolly, getting up from your chair and beginning to make your way towards the television with purpose.
The inksuit reels back from you. Very subtly, but your keen eyes are able to catch its fingers twitch apprehensively. Just as quickly, however, the leech's humorless grin returns, the beady eyes it stole levelling with yours.
"I don't want your cloying, saccharine blemish anymore," The Westhead snarls at you, before it straightens up, sickening pops emitting from its mouthpiece's spine. "I simply want to offer to… alleviate your current struggles."
TAKE IT!
That earns him a scoff from your lips, though it successfully halts you, only a couple of feet away from the screen. "And what could you possibly know that can help me?" you barb out.
The ghoul is not deterred, though, its chuckles like bubbling tar.
"Well, why make ideas yourself," it begins, arms behind its back as its pawn sways in place. "When you can get other people — other things — to think for you?"
TAKE! IT!
Unburden yourself!
"Absolutely not!" you respond immediately, only noticing you raised your voice when its echo bounces off your office walls. The bastard's lips only curl up further, the rows of teeth too dense to make out from the fuzz and grain.
"You stupid, stubborn cunt," it spits at you, its true venom finally seeping into its words. "I'm trying to help you. What you're doing isn't sustainable, not profitable."
Another offer of help ignored.
"Tell me. How many toys have you sold that weren't seized and locked away from the brats you market towards?"
Typical.
"How much money has Wondertainment even made?"
This is why people hate you.
"Is your company even close to being in the black, after all the setbacks you've faced?"
"…"
"What's the matter?" It jeers. "Rat got your tongue?"
If your glare could get any stronger, it'd probably melt the television into scrap.
"I don't do this for the money," you growl lowly.
The creep has the audacity to laugh at that.
"That's what they all say," it chuckles at you, unbearable smugness in its words. "And then the gears stop taking the oils of passion, and - in their desperation - the creatives submit to soaking the machine's teeth with their blood, their sweat, their meat, subsuming themselves until all that's left is compliant viscera and…"
Its snatched voice fades away from your ears, the Doubt in your mind practically screaming at you now.
Useless failure
Slapping away the hands that try to feed you
This is all you'll be remembered for
"Get out."
You find yourself surprised by how harshly the words leave your throat. Though perhaps not as surprised as the Westhead, who takes a small step backwards behind the screen, even if the contemptuous look it gives you doesn't waver.
What are you doing
That only makes something within you spike higher, past a ceiling you never knew you had.
You briskly close the distance between the two of you, your gaze never breaking away from the intruder as you extend your left hand - palm first - directly at it.
Stop it
It doesn't move back any further. Though you can see its false digits twitch, see it lean backwards…
See genuine nervousness crack against its holier-than-thou air, as purple lightning sparks from your palm.
Pure, unadulterated Wonder.
STOP IT
"Get the hell out!" you shout, ignoring the bile that even that mild profanity leaves on your taste buds. The glow from your hand becomes almost blinding, forming an obscuring, violet glare against the CRT.
"AND DON'T EVER, EVER, COME BA—!"
"Miss Isabel?"
You blink.
The lavender orb immediately dematerializes, your arm sagging like a deflating balloon towards your side, as you see Emma's worried face - along with three of your Jeremies - poke out from the doorway.
You look back at the TV, and see Willie glancing around in a panic, before hesitantly returning to the script as if nothing happened.
"You sounded angry," your assistant says in a quiet voice, and you notice her hair buns seem a bit frazzled. "Very angry. Is everything okay?"
You're going to scare her off.
You look down at yourself, the light brown hand you were seconds away from using as a weapon of last resort… now unremarkable, except for who it was attached to.
You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, and give a shaky smile in her direction. "I'm fine, Emma," you reassure as you click the television off. "I just had to kick out an unwanted guest."
She won't believe you.
Emma nods uncertainly, anxiousness bunching up her eyes, before the door is pushed open by the excited and panting corgis that quickly circle around you.
"Did the Jeremies give you any trouble?" you ask her, eager to change the subject as you bend down to pet each of your canine friends.
Deflecting coward
Emma laughs, the tension fully broken now, and shakes her head. "Other than them wanting to sniff Mr. Fish during walkies, not at all," she says, taking a moment to smooth down her hair with one hand.
You chuckle at that. I really need to train them better, you think.
Another failure on your part
"Anyway," your secretary continues. "Stressing yourself out isn't going to make the ideas come quicker. Why don't you call it early today, Miss Isabel?" She smiles up at you, that same soothing smile that carried you through hell and high water.
Relief washes over you, and you nod.
"Thank you, Emma," you say gratefully. "Let me take care of one more thing, and then I'll take the rest of the day off. Mr. Board and Mr. Director will understand, surely."
You can only push your luck so many times until you're told "no"
"Of course, Miss," she says with a nod, before shutting the door. You sigh, which segues into a high pitch yawn. You stretch your arms out with a cute noise as you relieve the tension in your back.
A head-clearing stroll outside would be good for you.
You walk up to RUMS one last time, carefully folding the paper still in your right hand.
THUNK!
CLICK!
SHUP!
Hope one of the Corneliuses, Hollies, Judies, or other Izzies put these drafts to good use.
They won't.
You clasp your hands together once the tube stops shaking, instantly catching your dogs' attention. You grin down at them.
"Who wants mama to buy some Pup Whip Cups?"
A good cuppa - double-roasted, with two sugars, milk, whipped cream, sprinkles, and a Wonder Cherry© on top - sounds delicious right now!
A chorus of excited yips follow behind you as you and the Jeremies walk out of your office.
Before you leave, you steal one last glance towards your desk.
Can you really put this off again?
…
I'll manage, you silence them firmly.
You flick the lightswitch down, and head out to spend of the rest of the day with your best friends.