fandomtownies | The Boards Orphanage, Sunday, All Day

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The Boards Orphanage, Sunday, All Day

Upon the miraculous appearance of little Angelo-nee-Jims, Jonothon Evan Starsmore, the stunningly handsome and formerly ridiculously wealthy priest-in-training ex-rock-star descendant of the late Jack Starsmore, once heir of the vast Starsmore Fortune, estranged leader of the mighty and powerful Clan Akkaba, and recently stripped of Mysterious Powers of Which He Never Spoke... had felt a stroke of inspiration. If asked, he'd say that he was merely acting out the will of God, who had smiled upon him yesterday, letting him join the priesthood and take young ~~Jims~~ Angelo under his watchful eye.

But really, Jonothon just didn't want to risk losing his own bed and property when he made his poverty vows. He was still very new to this priesthood thing, and looking properly tormented all the time was difficult to do attractively when you didn't get enough sleep.

Either way, Fandom Island now had an orphanage on it, as was right and proper on weekends such as these. After all, there really wasn't any shortage of illegitimate lovechildren being passed about, was there? And this way, they could be raised properly, without the influence of sex, drugs, and illicit sushi to guide them away from the right path in life.

Rock and roll was still on the table, though.

[Open orphanage is open!]

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Cade appeared suddenly in the doorway, snapping loudly on his gum because smoking was Bad now, apparently.

"I grew up in a place just like this," he said wistfully, though such a place hadn't existed until three seconds ago.

"A place where you could be safe, where you could grow into adulthood free of the influence of sex, drugs, and illicit sushi to guide you away from the right path in life?"

It was possible that the place just like this that Cade had grown up in hadn't done its job.

"Yes," Cade said, "and then I had my first salmon skin roll and it was all downhill from there..."

Jonothon bit his lip, putting down the storybook that he'd been reading to the children (a good half-dozen more than there had been at the start of the episode), and looked at Cade thoughtfully.

"I myself have walked that path, my son," he offered, holding a hand toward him. "And I'm living proof that one can turn back from the temptations of nigirizushi, if only one has faith."

And looked tormented enough.

"But I don't want to resist that temptation," Cade replied. "And pickled ginger is delicious."

"Pickled ginger is delicious." And for a moment, there was a look of true want in Jonothon's eyes, as he remembered the fancy free days of hookers and wasabi in the dressing rooms after his gigs. "But no, no my child, it can only bring about ruin! You must turn away! Sticky rice and nori seaweed are not the true path!"

"Expand your horizons, Father," Cade replied. "Sushi is just the beginning. It leads to kimchi, then peanut noodles--"

The writers had been close to lunch, okay?

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"Nice place," Korra drawled, drawing the brim of the fedora that didn't match any of the rest of her clothes over her face.

Maybe if she had had a place like this after the tragic and mysterious accident that had left her an orphan on the mean streets of Republic City, with no one but a massive apex predator to care for her, things would have been different, maybe she could have been someone, been an Avatar people could've looked up to ...but hey, them's the breaks.

"It isn't much," Jonothon said, bowing his head low to the young woman who had walked into the orphanage, "but it's a home for the lost and the needy."

Well, it had been for the past hour, and already it seemed to be disproportionately full of children. Lost, needy children.

Lost, needy children like Korra had been, but no, it was too late for her.

"Real nice place," she drawled some more, her voice taking on a distinct Brooklyn accent as she tapped the walls. "Uses a lot of wood does it?"

"It's a renovated old theatre," Jonothon replied, watching the young woman with a wary glint in his eye. "It would go up like a box of matches at the smallest spark, I'm sure."

Which clearly made it the optimal place to keep dozens of small children.

Small helpless children. Children without a polar bear dog to keep them safe.

"That it would," Korra agreed, pointing fingerguns at Jono. "Be a real shame too."

Ah, but they had a priest-in-training. One who would do anything in his power to keep his children safe.

"It would be," he agreed. "Imagine, so many children with nowhere to go. Of course, nobody would raise a finger to harm them, here."

... Right?

If only Korra had had someone like that...who'd had opposable thumbs.

"Yeah, I'd imagine you'd do anything to keep them safe," Korra echoed Jonothan's narrative, idly snapping her fingers to bring forth little flames. "Anything."

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Known assassin Phil Coulson needed to lay low until the time was right. And what better way of laying low was there than hiding in an orphanage.

Just outside the door, Coulson knocked loudly before climbing into his baby-in-a-bassinet costume. The only part of his body that was visible would be his head, with the pacifier in his mouth. The baby's body was an elaborate puppet Coulson controlled from below.

Attached to the bassinet was a note:

Hello kind orphanage owner,

I am a baby. Any wrinkles you see are just from the stress of being an orphan. Please do not touch me, as I have a skin condition and might die if you touch me below the neck.

Also, I love weddings. Please make certain that I attend the big wedding later today.

Thanks!
Little Baby Phil

There was a reason Coulson was a master assassin. This was a foolproof disguise.

Well, Jonothon certainly didn't see through it. After all, the disguise was so utterly convincing!

"Little Baby Phil," Jonothon read from the card, looking thoughtfully at the child. "Yes, Little Baby Phil, you shall have a home here, where you will be kept safe, and raised free from the temptation of the same evils that ruined my life."

Dramatic pause. Flickering candlelight for effect.

"And, of course, I shall take you to the big wedding later today. It is, of course, the least I can do. God would wish it of me."

"Goo goo," Coulson said in appreciation.

It was all coming together.

"And the Lord keep you safe as well, my son."

And with that, Jonothon attempted to get the bassinet through the front door.

"They make bassinets rather heavy these days, don't they?"

But with the strength of the Lord on his side, Jonothon would persevere. Hopefully without straining his back.

The young woman who wandered into the orphanage looked dazed, though hopefully in an attractive way. Her hair was pulled back tightly, and her severe clothes were decorated only by a mysterious medallion about her neck.

"Excuse me," she said, in a voice that bore a trace of the accent from the exotic land where she;d grown up. "Father? Was this place an orphanage seventeen years ago?"

"Why, it was," Jonothon replied, "I was raised here myself, as a matter of fact!"

... It didn't matter that just earlier, this place had been established as an old theatre that had been one for ages. Continuity had no home within this orphanage's walls.

"Then you might remember me," Tara said earnestly. "They called me Tara. My real parents left me here as an infant. The only clue to my true identity was this medallion. I've worn it every day of my life since. Does it ... remind you of anything?"

Jonothon leaned forward to get a better look at the medallion. Or else at Tara's cleavage. Possibly at both.

"I... I know I've seen it before," he murmured. "The symbols on it, they have meaning, I'm sure. But where I've seen them before, I cannot say..."

Perhaps in the orphanage, around her neck, on the same medallion some seventeen years ago?

Naaah.

"That's what everyone says," Tara said fretfully, gesturing in a way that no doubt displayed her cleavage even more. "I've been to code breakers, language experts, even the government -- no one knows what it is. You don't know how hard it is, not -- not knowing who you are."

Even though he probably did, what with having grown up in an orphanage and stuff.

"Oh, but I do know," Jonothon protested, reaching for one of her hands. "I grew up with a brand on my inner wrist, a brand that I knew not the meaning to until the one fateful day that I was found by the clan that I was rightful heir to. I had no clue who I was meant to be until once day, I found myself handed my birthright by blood, as the leader of the mighty and powerful Clan Akkaba!"

... Which had booted him out for sushi abuse, a decade down the road.

"If anybody can understand your pain, Tara, it's me!"

"But I'd given up on hoping anyone ever would," Tara said, firmly gripping his hand and turning it to try to see the brand. "Oh, Father. This could change everything."

For .... absolutely no reason, but this wasn't a show that put huge stock in continuity.

"Might I belong to the same clan?"