Toddler Who: The Funkenstein's Figurine

  "How are you going to differ the details from each other? You've got... five, six, seven..."
  "Thir-teen," Peter proudly announced and showed four fingers (one on the right hand and three on his left) as a proof. "We WILL dee-fer."
  Today the children were playing with Lego sets in the attic of the house where Matt and Peter lived. It definitely was quite easy to differ one set's details from the other's (for instance, Patrick's set was knight-themed, while David's and Johnny's was 'megapolis' and Matt had a pirate-themed set), but it also would take time.
  "Spaceship, spaceship!" Chris finished his grand model of the mentioned craft (unlike the rest of the kids, he preferred following the instructions here) and began running around with it, making whirring sounds. But his ninth 'wheeeeerrrrr' turned into a yelp: another sound, similar to cracking of thunder, followed from somewhere below.
  Only Peter wasn't surprised with this.
  "That's Daddy," he explained. "He sometimes plays music there."
  “Love me do! Whooooooaaaaa, LOVE ME DOOOO!”
  The kids simultaneously stared at Peter, for he was the only one not afraid… okay, not worried to disturb Mr. Capaldi. That man wasn’t of soft type. Maybe Matt didn’t fear him, but nobody knew that. Matt was always so energetic that it couldn’t be told if he fears anything or not. And River… River feared seemingly nothing. But she had never met Mr. Capaldi face to face before.
  Peter stuck his tongue out and toddled downstairs, closely followed by the line of children. Some of them – Patrick and Petey, for instance – cheered to themselves that the ‘thunder-like’ sounds were so loud that creaking of stairs responding to their feet were not heard.
  When the first three kids – Peter, Billy and Jon – peeked into the basement door, they saw the most unexpected image: Mr. Capaldi, dressed in a torn tee, zipped hoodie and checkered pants, was playing an extremely loud tune on the electric guitar, yelling at the top of his voice. He wasn’t going to stop until it was over.
  “Hello, hello, hello, how low? Yeah, I made it up,” he confessed, having finished and having seen the rounded eyes of the kids. “Didn’t I tell you I used to be one of the Funkensteins?"
  Dumbfounded Peter shook his head. Mr. Capaldi placed the guitar aside.
  “The whole bunch here, marvelous… There’s a punk rock band named Doctor Funkenstein. It’s famous for having unstable membership and constantly changing. Like parts of stitched body of Frankenstein’s Monster… What, you dunno what that means?”
  “I know.” Ganny raised his hand. “Frank-en-stein’s Monster was made up of many pieces, like a jig puzzle.”
  “Right. But it’s JIGSAW puzzle… er… Paul Mark Two.” Mr. Capaldi clearly didn’t want to admit that he didn’t know everybody here, so he used his usual ‘analogy’ trick, for Paul and Ganny were twins, but their grooves differed though their physical images were identical: Ganny had shorter hair and wore his clothes in such a way that they tended to get messy and dirty, no matter where he was. The same was now: his sleeves were slightly too long, so only his fingers stuck out, and bits of fluff were stuck in his hair. And Paul left an impression as if he had just walked out of a children's beauty salon. If such exist.
  “I’m not Paul, or Mark, or Two. I’m Ganny.” Ganny, whose real name was John McGann (and he completely despised this name, because ‘there are lots of Johns’), checked if Paul was there. He was.
  “Fine, Ganny. And you all got it? Frankenstein’s Monster was made up of parts, and this band is made up of different members. And quite a lot of funk. Ch-ch-ch-ch-changeeeees! Come and face the strange ch-ch-changes, don’t wanna be another man!” Some more guitar sounds. “This way Doctor Funkenstein stayed alive for a long-long time. I was a little boy, barely older than you, when they appeared.”
  “Oh! Oh! I remember!” David impatiently bounced. “My unca says that he has a whole collection of songs of this band! I saw it! And…”
  “Mmmmmmm?” Mr. Capaldi raised one of his monumental eyebrows (which Peter inherited 100%) and made up a cunning grin.
  The kids began nervously glancing at each other, wondering what they were to guess. Mr. Capaldi sighed:
  “Youngsters!.. Ask your uncle,” he poked David in the forehead, “to search for the song called Capers Up My Sleeve. It begins like this…”
  “At first I found myself at Waterloo railway,
I wasn’t Napoleon, and had luck not to stay.
Why did I jump into the train? I didn’t know, how bad,
What was my real homeland or the place for my head.”
  This was again accompanied with guitar accords. Even Peter didn’t know what to answer. He had never seen his dad like this. Serious? Yes. Non-sentimental? No doubt. Harsh? Every moment. Freaking out? Obviously… but not like this.
  “And what did you all forget here?” Mr. Capaldi finished playing and frowned at the kids.
  “W-wanted to see what you were doing,” Matt replied for everybody, making puppy-eyes to his stepfather (though he knew it well that it wouldn’t make the adult melt down like a lolly). “It was heard till the attic.”
  “No more drama, Matthew,” Mr. Capaldi shot out and turned the guitar off. “What were you doing at the attic, all of you?”
  “Playing,” Colin interfered. “All together.”
  “I see that all toge…” Having not finished the phrase, Mr. Capaldi narrowed his bulging eyes (another family feature) at Matt, who was holding something small between his forefinger and thumb. Matt backed away, but soon found himself ‘suspended on suspenders’, as his mother called it: Mr. Capaldi was holding him in the air by both his red suspenders.
  “HEY!” River and Mels momentarily darted forwards – the first holding a water gun, the second clenching her little coffee-brown fists.
  “It’s okay, Rivvy!” Matt beamed, though his face got first tomato-red. then beet-red, and showed two thumbs up, helplessly dangling his legs in the air. Mr. Capaldi hung him on a hook sticking from the closest wall and turned his attention to River:
  “And what are you going to do?”
  Here the whole bunch set up to prevent the most horrible consequences. Everybody knew that River was stubborn. And Mr. Capaldi was a well. But he was an adult. And River didn’t fear adults… never.
  “Ooooh, she can!” Sylvester put in. “I saw it!”
  “Mr. Tennant was few-ree-os,” Petey caught up, recalling the event which had taken place almost in front of him the previous morning when they all had been brought to preschool. That time it was David’s and Johnny’s father who had brought them there. “Cuz someone said that David and Johnny were con… con…”
  “MADE,” River hinted.
  “Yes, made! On a working copying machine!” Petey went on. “And that man laughed. Stupidly. No one else laughed. And Mr. Tennant looked as if he was gonna go kaboom! And River shot from her gun and made that mockery man look as if he wet himself!”
  Some of the kids, including Mels, Colin and Chris, made a chuckling motion.
  “You made the right thing, River,” Mr. Capaldi appreciated. “I bet poor father of the twin boys got mad of unfunny jokes from every corner… but I think you know that you shouldn’t do that just for fun.”
  “I know, Mr. Capaldi,” River nodded. Mr. Capaldi hummed as an acceptance, turned to Matt again and lowered him down onto the floor. “Show.”
  Matt uncurled his round fist and showed a Lego figurine mostly of dark blue color. Mr. Capaldi twirled it this way and that, then pursed his lips:
  "A pastiche, Matthew. A total pastiche it is. Isn't it?"
  "Whatssa pasteesh?" Tom asked, blinking at the adult (it seemed that he was constantly parodying him, for they both had bulging watery blue eyes).
  "Parody. Imitation. Bad copy. Whatever." Mr. Capaldi placed the figurine onto his palm. "Look at that, I am the ugliest Lego figurine in the world!"
  Matt's figurine indeed carried a striking resemblance to the adult in front of him (and his stepbrother too): it had grey hair sticking up, slightly wrinkled face (especially on the cheeks, between nose and mouth) and was dressed strictly, as Mr. Capaldi preferred.
  "Let's see what mishmash you created up there."
  Even Peter felt uneasy, for his father didn't enjoy tidying up at all (and also he didn't like mess, though occasionally created it). And it was quite a disorder in the attic. Okay, artistic disorder. Chris's spaceship was abandoned next to Jon's unfinished medieval castle, David's and Johnny's skyscrapers were messed up with Billy's Aztec-styled buildings, Mel's hi-tech cars were scattered among Patrick's flying saucers. In the very center was the unfinished mini copies of Big Ben (Paul's and Ganny's work; the tower's upper half lacked a piece with two clock faces, so it looked as if one of the spaceships crashed into it) and Egyptian pyramid (River's work; she was fond of all things ancient). That all apart from a medley of figurines of all colors, genders and hairstyles.
  "What, you copied everybody you know?" Mr. Capaldi asked, not knowing where to step not to crush anything: he knew the children's attitude towards adults breaking their belongings. And hopes.
  Each of the kids rushed over to their finished or unfinished works. But Mr. Capaldi first gave them a smirk and then began walking around the attic, pointing his finger at the constructions (and at the kids' foreheads):
  "Buzz-Cut, spaceships don't have such massive front parts. Yours wouldn't fly if it was real. Consider revising. Matthew, is that a Cloud Cuckoo land? I'd rather call it Cloud Tic-Tac land. Too much green for clouds. Baby Beatle, is that Lilliput you're building? Hey, I am not going to hit you." Patrick indeed curled up in a little ball when the adult approached to him. "It indeed looks like that. You know why? In the Lilliput, there was one human-tall building, and yours looks just like that. Make its base wider, or it's going to fall pretty soon."
  Basically, everybody's creations, as childish ones, appeared to have at least one physical or artistic disadvantage. The kids waited until Mr. Capaldi reached his son. They knew it perfectly that some parents thought their children were the most flawless beings in the world and forgave them things which they caught in others. But no. Mr. Capaldi, not even delaying it, pointed out that Peter's blue "polees boks" (this was written on the top of his work) had too small windows and in all he had to practice his spelling.
  "You've got a cool dad, Peter," Mels mentioned when Mr. Capaldi left.
  "I know," Peter grinned toothily and didn't even change a single letter in the writing, which made the kids snicker again. It was unclear who was more stubborn, father or son.