"If you have to build a wall, Get a troop of weaker entities (entities) to do it for you."
Submitted by Enigma, the Exception to Every Rule. Thank you!
Hi, this place is familiar, isn't it? I'm really sorry, but things have been piling up. You want to know the stuff I've been doing? Come on, I know you want to! I'll add amusing sound effects every now and then.
OK, while at the city once (pleasant background music), doing some errands and stuff, I tripped while going up an elevator (funny slipping sound and raucous laughter). Alright, everyone stop laughing now (laugh track). I got an interesting step-shaped bruise on my leg now (group aww). Now, over the past few months, I was part of the pit band for the school's biannual musical (flute flourish). This year it was . . . Annie (gasp). You do realize it was concert type stuff (play Overture). But we got over it ('The Sun'll Come Out, Tomorrow), after a few spent Sundays ('It's a Hard Knock Life'). I also became female Band Captain (triumphant fanfare) much to my chagrin (unhappy trumpet). Not to mention, with all this happening, the semester was drawing to a close (door creaking), which meant assessments, assessments, News Broadcast, late submissions (alarm clock rings). Then, not even after that, study, study, study for exams (warning sirens). And I got a cold (wa, wa, wah . . .)
Anyway, I'm really, really, sorry. I'm still going to submit, but I don't think I'll ever be regular. My new story, 'Nathanael and Kathleen', is easier to do, so it should progress more.
Although I've been such a scrooge on updating, I got a good amount of reviews. Maybe patience is all I need. Here we go.
Darkstar-Sublimation:
Thank you very much for your long review! And thanks for your thanks for writing a long reply to your short one from a chapter ago! And to just contrast past experiences, I will reply in dot-point form! (Why? Because I'm petty and spiteful? Because I'm nasty and sarcastic? Because I get cheap laughs?)
(Nota Bene: Only half of two sentences are true, and written in alphabetical order, which will interfere with the placing.)
- Ratio equals 1 irrelevant review : 1 irrelevant review. Adjusted ratio equals 1 irrelevant review : 1 relevant review. Good odds.
- See if can work 'Baka Nor Ka Zu Ku' in one-shot in-progress, which should centre around the Simpkin and Pinn duo (Simpkin so fun to play with! Almost like Bartimaeus, but less venerable!)
(P.S.: Throughout three schools (two primary, one high), choices have been: Indonesian—German (depending on side of town)— or German and Japanese. Stuck with German. Weep now.)
- The comprehensibility of my chronicling is inversely applied to the amount of humourous effect that it is my intention to occur. (Read: I write bad to make smart stuff sound funny, and write eloquently to induce hilarity in dumb moments.)
(P.S.: Japanese-manufactured brains do not work in many regional settings, I have found.)
- Badfic: Is that bad as in bad, or bad as in good? Confusion: needs to have better name. Maybe: Anti-fic? Pseudo-fic?
- ROI has mild megalomania mixed with mild paranoia, so it is not detectable.
- Have not 'Good Omens'. Read other work by Gaiman. Read 'Sandman' Comic. Think I'm still bleeding. Think something broke in here. (Death cool as, but not as sympathize-inducing as, the Death of Terry Pratchett.)
- Anna's Hook's viciousness is inversely related to— Sorry. The Hook's nastiness is no match when compared to Anna in a bad— :Hook swings past: Mercy!
- Anna's Hook is an anti-hook when applied to 'hooks'. It is used against those who are 'hooked', whether on the spotlight or off on a tangent— Hitori de wa— and unhooks them with severity.
- Sorry, but when fixing mistake (Nubbins not equal Nittles . . . Grr), lost answer to previous review. Sorry. Cringing.
Enigma. The Exception to Every Rule:
Two words. Thank, you, thank you, thank you. Is still two when six. Thank you.
The Thirteenth Councillor:
Could never hate you : bounces hook : Suggestions are great! Governments are cor— very nice people, very nice. : Creeps away :
jesusfreak30:
. . . Short, and to the point. Monty Python and the Holy Grail had its moments. At the very least, it is a venerable source of quotes.
Waste no time! Read now!
Last time, on the Wizard of Ahz! It's a quiet city. There's the traffic ingestion, the construction sites, and the screaming, screaming mass destruction sprees. A quiet little town.
Until they came.
The name's Droopy. Sergeant Droopy. It's my responsibility in this joint to keep everything around me sane, and sometimes it takes its toll.
"Just leave the dried frog pills on my desk, Darlene."
As I monologue-d before, it's a quiet little town. Until they— Hey, I've said this before already!
So this dame comes to me. Name's Kitty. A cat with sharper claws I've never seen. And she brings this high-class swank. Name's Not Nathaniel. Probably Russian.
They bring this incarnation of fire and air to me, name's Barty— Barim— Barta— Something. It has a unique ring to it.
"We have been unjustly accused of a crime," says the swank one."Someone's said we murdered this Rincewind clone," says the dame meaningfully, but danged if I know why.
"So we need you to find this man— who was not murdered— and prove us innocent," the swank one drones.
"If you don't find this guy and clear our names, I'm gonna put your liver on the black market," the dame clarifies.
The entity influencing mankind for good and evil didn't say much. I just thought he had a tight lip, but turns out he had a tight metal collar. The things these people are put through . . .
"Sure," I say, fixing my detective hat on straight. "Leave it to me."
"Liar!" Kitty interrupts the atmosphere. "We had to do the legwork!"
"We're counting on you . . . Sergeant," says the dame saucily.
"She never!" Nathaniel interrupts.
There was obviously something between these two, some sort of friction.
"LIKE HELL!" shout both dame and swank.
"Excuse me? I think you've forgotten me," the djinni raises a hand.
And so on, and so on, and so on.
Where in the World is the Cowardly Lion? PART III
In a place of many people, there are many stories. Stories that span generations with dynasties and star-crossed love and other Shakespearian inspirations. Stories that will shock a generation with the coldness and beauty of true life. Stories of real people.
And of those stories, the very best may be put down on paper, bound in hardcover with a jacket photo, published and reach around the world!
This one is on a Fanfiction site.
. . . What? It's still totally respectable!
Here we are in Fluoride City! It is a place of many contrasts, to the suburbs where rosy-faced youngsters make innocent Mafia-clone groups in the primary-coloured parks, to where hard-cut men skip about happily in lavatory-smelling alleys.
And so, in the vicious, cold, and heartless complexes of the playgrounds— whoops, I mean, alleyways— men skip and play and— you know, I should really compose my thoughts before I write.
Anyway, in the complexes of alleyways and the working class, there are plotters. And they plot. Oh, how they do plot. Oh, the plots they can plot, if only they plot.
. . . Note to self: Do NOT compose thoughts after reading Seuss.
And in among the primary coloured warehouses—
"Ahem?"
Sorry, I mean— dreary coloured warehouses, there is an example, in which one man plots to skip about happily— Sorry, I am just not thinking today.
—"When do you, dugong?"
Shut up, or I'll make a glove out of you! —
"If it makes things any easier, just cut to where I am."
Oh. Right. Here we go . . .
"Got any threes?"
". . . No . . ."
"Then pass them over."
No, no, sorry, that's Scene 15. We need Scene 17. Hang on; it's here somewhere.
"'N so, my doctor says that I can't go 'round lifting hay bales anymore," Farmer Bob was explaining to Rob and Cob. "So I thought, since Mr Leonard Charles Balderdash Wildberry III is out on business, I could mind the sheep dip instead."
Damn, that's Scene 5. How did that get there? Ooo, I'm going to get Tony for dropping the box!
"The horror . . . the horror . . ." whimpered Tumber, curled up in a foetal position on the bathroom floor.
Not that . . .
"We represent, the Musk Sticks League! The Musk—"
Sorry.
"Sure, just check right through that portal!" a sneaky-looking man gestured to a swirling portal of doom.
I don't have time for this, sir. I really must hurry.
"Can't the barer of my daughter's name visit her own mentor?"
Sorry, master, but I'm annoying people.
"That's my girl!"
This looks like it . . .
ESUOHERAW YMOOLG DAN KRAD A NI—
Whoops, put it on backwards! Gotta fix the Caps Lock too.
In a dark and gloomy warehouse, a barber shop quartet sprawls across the—
Oi! Get back in there:Flicks them into another conveniently supplied portal:
Good help is so hard to find . . .
In a dark and gloomy warehouse, a chill wind blows. Chains of now redundant use swing sadly in the breeze. Mice have deserted this place, and the last family of cockroaches are waiting out the end of their month-long lives.
Perhaps it was because, or, the reason of the plotter's use of the place. Now he was here and accompanied by what appeared to be a man, or the bad end of an elephant.
"Of course you will get your share," said the plotter, and the best eavesdropper could only guess of his tiredness. "Why would I abandon you?"
The example of an ample lifestyle and little space gulped nervously. Only greed kept him here.
"Besides, I still need you to collect information for me," said the more-humanoid one. "So you must stay in position."
"Yes, of course, master," said the more-pachyderm one.
"Then go," said the plotter quietly.
The larger man hurries away. Moonlight shone briefly through a gap in the roof, and reflected off the glasses of the plotter. No other light fell on his face, as that would have spoiled the anticipation.
Wow, too much seriousness-ity. I've got to put a contrast somewhere.
No sooner had the greedy man disappeared, there was a lack of introduction as a djinni materialised with a puff of sulphur and all that tasteless jazz.
"Master!"
The plotter narrowed his silhouetted eyes as the abominable end to the serious-ity ended the serious-ity-ness abominably.
"What?" he snapped, as the moonlight travelled on.
The lurker vaguely picked up that it had done something wrong, but doubt had little room in the weapons room of its mind.
"Master, I have news. Someone's—"
"What have I told you?" its master interrupts icily. Or hotly. Some depth or height in temperature, anyway.
The lurker froze, because a sweep of his data banks would require that all other programs were shut down.
"Do not . . . eat the other servants?" it ventured.
The eyes flashed, even without an accompanying ray of moonlight.
A pentacle bloomed on the floor for a moment, and the imprisoned lurker leap up in pain by reflex.
"No," said the plotter, not having used the words of fiery pain in intimate parts. "I asked for a warning every time you appear."
The lurker thought about this. Well, as much as it could think without strain.
"Yes!" it suddenly cried in triumph. "You did!"
The plotter was not as enthusiastic. A lightning bolt speared down from the ceiling and went right down the creature, which I won't describe yet because it would spoil the anticipation!
"Never, ever disobey me again!" the plotter shouted. Although, like all magicians— Whoops! That was not a hint! This in no way, shape or form suggests anything in the coming plot. It might be a coincidence, but I got a fairly good mark in my Probability test last year and I can make a darn good probability branch complex thing!
Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yeah. Sharing attributes with magicians, the plotter's voice was a weedy timbre, but thanks to the walls of the warehouse, the sound bounced until it thundered—
"Actually, a real warehouse would make an echo that could only grow softer, and that was if you had the right type of material, such as sturdy rock. However, this being the average warehouse in a worse than average city, it would be improbable that even a normal echo could occur in any case."
"No, you're a warehouse!"
Well, maybe he chose one of them special warehouses, then, hmm? It's probable!
"Yes, but then it would stand out, and assuming that with the plotter's past examples of subterfuge and atmospheric descriptions were to indicate a discreet business, this would thus be counter-active against the plotter's plans."
"I hate you and your counter-activeness!"
He's really very instrumental in my— Alright, alright. It was not the warehouse that produced the growing echo. It was a narrative effect, from my awesome /4I 4U71-1012 P0/3125!
"No, you're a mad author powers . . . Dugong!"—
"But master!" pleaded the slave. "I never disobeyed! I forgot!"
"THERY'RE THE SAME THING!" the plotter boomed thanks to narrative causality (thank you, Terry Pratchett).
"No they're not," said the slave.
"YES THEY ARE!"
Not technically.
"Silence!"
Fine, fine. I'm keeping myself low to maintain a steady output of narrative effects, OK? So neither of us wants to have me cheesed off so that I have to call another cameo character. You know, I haven't brought anyone in from Ruroni Kenshin. Maybe it can be Sanosuke, or Saito, or Himura Kenshin himself!
: Tapping of Hook of Bruised Souls :
Yep, moving right along.
"Now, what is your important message, slave?" asked the plotter, after feeling his throat and wishing for a throat lozenge. I said I was keeping it low, didn't I?
"Well," the slave shifted uncomfortably, not just because he had a, let's say, lesson against the lack of trousers. "It's from the . . . from the . . ."
"From where?" snapped the plotter impatiently. "The BM? The PB? The RH?"
"A Bridesmaid? The Princess Bridget? An agglutinogen often present in human blood?" (1 Woo, footnotes!)
There was more disciplinary movement.
"Civilians have been searching for the target as well!" howled the servant, the possibility of lurking on cold stone awnings unlikely in the future. "They have a list and clipboard and everything!"
The plotter mused about this for a while.
"Hmm . . . I shall have to muse on this for longer."
You don't mind a scene change now, because I've really got to hurry up.
"Very well."
"That not dynamic enough!"
Alright!
A violent crack of lightning struck the lightning rod on the roof, bathing the area in an eerie blue light. The reflective orbs of the plotter's glasses were turned to the horizon in thought, the deep belly-winds of the storm rattling the walls.
"No matter what, I shall achieve my goal," he murmured. "I will be the greatest force Fluoride City has ever seen, or my name isn't—"
Oi! Oi! No foreshadowing! What have I told you dudes?
-xxx-
There were sudden footsteps outside. All fell silent as they came to the door. After gently wheezing for a moment, they opened the door, which swung quietly on oiled hinges.
"I need your help," said Mr Pennyfeather nobly to the assembly of Kitty, Bartimaeus, Nathaniel and Droopy. "For I am the Cowardly Lion!"
Dun, Dun, DURN!
Where in the World is the Cowardly Lion? Part III Ending Scene Example I!
ROI: Sorry. Just testing possible scenarios and characters for the ending scene for this chapter. Wouldn't you know, I've hardly just confirmed to myself who it's going to be!
Anna: I'd believe it.
Mr Buttons: Me too!
Mr Tipples: Sorry, but I don't find it totally unlikely either.
ROI: Oh, go try the tinned anchovies from the 90s!
Tony: Does that mean I can do the 'dun-dun' stuff later?
-xxx-
Meanwhile, in the Fluoride City Police Headquarters (FCPHQ when I'm feeling tired), Sergeant Droopy was in his racecar-wallpapered office, in front of his crepe-papered computer, interpreting the information he gained on his screen.
"Badger-badger-badger-badger!"
"BWAHAHAHAHAA!" laughed Droopy hysterically, almost falling from his chair. "There's a mushroom!"
"Sergeant Droopy, sir!" announced Mr Pointy. He announced it in a whisper, because his last sudden intrusion had destroyed Droopy's castle of necessary cards. Have you noticed I have many card references in this work? Weird, huh? And then when I play Might and Magic, or lands of Lore, there're lots of monster references? Isn't that weird?
—"No. It is actually a sharing of information, a tool in creating a bond between author and reader."
Aww . . . that is so sweet!
"It's your pathetic attempt at padding! Don't try to deny it! YOU'RE MAKING FILLER, DUGONG!"
SHUT UP YOU— Hey, I wonder what this is saying about me? —
"Ah! It's a snake!" gasped Droopy.
"What? But I'm just a background character! I can't afford to have any ulterior—"
Dude? He's talking about the animation. Hey, there're the badgers again!
"Oh. Sorry."
Next time, think before you possibly blurt out a possible blatant foreshadowing! I'm trying to write a decent fanfic here! —
"And failing miserably," said Kitty from her dressing room, reading the script. —
"The mission to locate the victim to transport them to a place of sanctuary has failed!" said Mr Pointy, standing straight and tall.
"Regardless, we will continue, on our quest to bring peace to the city of Fluoride," said Sergeant D solemnly. "Hey! Mushroom!"
"And now we return to our heroic team of the fusing of the Commoner and High-society powers," said Pointy, turning to attention. "Right after this commercial break."
Hey, dude! Let me keep up!
-xxx-
The conversation was halted abruptly when there was a loud tapping on the window, which swung open soundlessly as the sanctum-seeker flew into the room, and boomed for all to hear:
"I need, I SAID, I NEED YA HELP!" shouted Nittles so he could be heard over the traffic outside. "'Cos I'm ye Cowardly Lion!"
DUN, DUN—
"Oi! A bit quieter, thanks!" shouted Nittles.
Sorry. Dun, dun, durn!
Where in the World is the Cowardly Lion? Part III Ending Scene Example VI!
Nittles: Aw yeah, more screen time! I hardly got a chapter to meself in the first book!
Tumber (That Triloid from the fifth chapter): Hey, you're going to include me, right? 'Cause I didn't even get a line in mine!
ROI: Sorry. Because you didn't get any lines, or personality, it's near impossible to write something for you.
That Triloid from the fifth chapter: Come on! Do you know how long it took to glue those tiles together? DO YOU KNOW WHAT I'VE SEEN!
ROI: Hey, hey, get back, I can't— Are those claws? How to you retract them? Hey, wait, get away from—
Nittles: And now back to our irregularly updated fanfic YOU COBBERS!
-xxx-
"Ready to go?" asked Nathaniel, sitting at a café table, enjoying a milky coffee and wholegrain biscuit.
"Whatever," said Kitty, sitting at a café table, viciously guarding a strawberry milkshake and double-choc brownie.
"Very well," said Nathaniel, standing up. "I'll pay for us."
"Really?" said Kitty in surprise.
"Yes. It was good meeting with you, Ms Piper," Nathaniel said to the young woman sitting across from him.
"Thank you, sir," said Rebecca Piper graciously as Kitty glared from the other café across the street.
"And if you should ever consider working in the Government—"
"Of course, sir," said Ms Piper, smiling in the early evening light. A light breeze blew, sending an appropriate screen of dried blossoms over her face.
"Ahem," said Kitty, marching over the road, being narrowly missed by a crude motorcar, which blared its horn appropriately while the occupant gestured inappropriately.
"We will be sure to welcome you into the House," said Nathaniel, a similar breeze making his charcoal locks wave.
"I said, that's $7.50, miss!" called the checkout guy from Kitty's takeaway foodbar.
Piper smiled warmly, stood up, picked up her modest handbag and left with a slight bow.
"Here's a twenty, and keep the change," said Nathaniel to the waiter, who had a tie and everything.
"Oi, you cheapskate! How am I supposed to pay when I dropped out of the sky in an art supplies store?" Kitty demanded.
Nathaniel blinked, as if realizing finally that she was there, and gave her a magician's wane I'm-superior-to-you-so-you-should-be-glad-I-don't-charge-you-with-stealing-my-air smile.
"I don't remember accepting to take responsibility to your finances," he said curtly, picking up the clipboard. ""But we really ought to be going now."
"You little—" Kitty was about to say to his back, as well as a lot of other things she would have improvised, but the checkout guy from the takeaway across the street had run over, giving the finger to a few cars (some of which had been parked, and so their metal souls were dented).
"Oi, you— : Improvised phrase : I said $7.50! Pay up before I— Kitty?"
Kitty spun around, and came face to face with one of the last people in the world she expected to see.
"Jonathon Stroud?"
I wish. Try again.
"Stanley? What are you doing here?"
"Whatcha talking about? A job's a job, right?" Stanley sniffed. "Hey, what are you doing here then?"
Kitty belatedly remembered the survey.
"Name?"
"Stanley Pendragon."
"Age?"
"Coincidently about the age of the heir to the throne of the Winkles at the time he disappeared."
"Half full or empty?"
"I never been there!"
"Red or white?"
"Red."
"Favourite Harry Potter book?"
"Harry who?"
"Are you the Cowardly Lion?"
"Don't be stupid! I'm the Prince of Bedraggled Daises! Geez, Kitty, aren't you slow?"
"Who is this?" asked Nathaniel, impatiently as he returned to see what was taking his pack-mule so long.
"Pack mule?" Kitty demanded to me.
"Hey! Don't I know you?" Stanley asked Nathaniel.
The magician's eyes narrowed as an unpleasant memory surfaced. "It's you."
"Is it? Did I take something from you?" Stanley screwed up his face in thought.
"Yes," stated Nathaniel darkly. "Something very important. From a night in an alley."
"Really? We're hardly out in alleys at night, too dark and stereotypical, like," Stanley scratched his whiskery chin. "Ah, right! Yeah, I think I remember you! Hang on a sec, I still got that . . ."
Nathaniel smiled grimly as Stanley twisted around. His face, however, froze, as Stanley pulled up the waistband of his underpants.
"Ow, that ain't half tight," Stanley flinched as he read the tag. "So you're a 'Nathaniel', aren't ya? Doesn't your real name give me like some power over you?"
Nathaniel coloured in fury and embarrassment. "Hey, give those back!"
"Cor," said Stanley, as the band snapped back. "That's downright brutal, you know."
"Didn't you rob him two years ago?" Kitty asked, worriedly for the sanity of those around her. "Isn't he a year younger than you?"
"Oh, yeah," said Stanley, holding Nathaniel back with a palm on his forehead.
"And isn't this a bit too suss?" Kitty questioned plaintively. Oh dear, hopefully this doesn't go above PG-13, or I'll 00ERROR00 all you 00ERROR00! Is that 00ERROR00ing better for you 00ERROR00s!
: One begging session and sacrificing of a portion of 4U71-1012 P0/3R5 later :
"OK," said Nathaniel, getting impatient. "You little 00ERROR00! Get out of my—"
Geez!
: One MORE begging session later :
"So, Stanley, do you know of anybody referred to as the 'Cowardly Lion'?" Kitty asked, unexcitedly.
"Well, gee, Miss Kitty, ma'am, can't say I have," said Stanley sarcastically. "But I may know someone who does."
"And who might that be, Stanley-boy?" Kitty inspected her nails.
"A Mr Nicholas Drew," said Stanley, scratching an itch. "He knows everyone in the underground. He is often found in the Silhouetted Nightmare Club. There's a footnote for that, too." (2. Oh, yeah.)
"Thank you, Young Mr Stanley," Kitty stretched her back. "I will not think to question the impossibility that a resident of my original world has somehow ended up in here with a history. Good-bye."
"Wait, Kitty," Stanley grabbed her upper arm, bringing her to a halt.
"What?" she snapped in irritation, blushing slightly.
"Well, you know, if you're with that magician guy against your will," Stanley said, uncertainly. "Do you think that, between us . . ."
Kitty's eyes widened as she considered. Her lips parted as she turned to face him. She lifted a hesitant hand . . .
And got him right in the nose with a right hook.
"And if you think I'm gunna pay for one of your milkshakes, you must have 00ERROR00 for brains!" she called back as she ran after Nathaniel.
"Dam. Dat spoiled da moment," Stanley groaned as he felt his nose.
Nah. It actually made it a winner.
-xxx-
Silence fell, as an eerie wind slammed the window shut.
Footsteps were heard down the hall.
An atmosphere of suspense and tension devoured the room. It seemed to hint at a time of stealth and slyness; of vivid plots and dynamic actions.
The door swung open in a gust of wind (from inside a building built for gang war on a foundation of concrete), and the atmosphere-bearing man stepped forwards.
"I need your help," said Harlequin, solemnly. "For I am the Cowardly Lion."
Where in the World is the Cowardly Lion? Part III Ending Scene Example XXIX!
Harlequin: Ah-ha! Appreciation!
ROI: Don't get too bubbly, dude. That's probably the only text time you're getting in this show.
Harlequin: What? By the streets of Prague, why?
ROI: Um . . . you don't fit.
Harlequin: By the Alchemists of old, I do! I would make a magnificent Wizard.
ROI: Hey, you're right!
Harlequin: So do I— I mean, bless the Strahov Monastery! I do get a part?
ROI: Nah. : Typing away : Too late now, and besides! I've already got a person in mind for it.
Harlequin: Appalled stuttering : What? I— Stone Bridge, why I— Tower of London?
ROI: Ignores : Who: Wag finger : That is a secret!
Harlequin: Still affronted : Vltava? Zoroastrian? Tenochitlan?
ROI: Still ignoring : Heh. Actually, his part and the Cowardly Lion's was the hardest to fill. Not because they were necessarily sparse of comparisons, but because there was so many cowards and humbugs, as you can see! I probably should have thought this out better before I started. : Embarrassed laugh : But, I'm sledging through anyway.
Harlequin: Nimrud! Assyria! Westminster Alley! Oh, 00ERROR00!
ROI: I'm not having any of that language in my : Read hand : Fam-ily Friend-ly example of Fan Work, by order of the Fanfiction committee. If they take my music, I'm gonna 00ERROR00ing 00ERROR00 them all!
: Gone begging :
ROI: Come on! Do you know how hard it is to find midis on the Internet now!
-xxx-
: One undeserved mercy later :
"So, he's in the Silhouetted Nightmare Club?" asked Droopy.
"Yes," said Kitty.
"And he knows the underground, so he would know the Cowardly Lion?"
"Yes."
"And by finding the Cowardly Lion, we can find who is trying to kill them, and possibly why, so we can charge them and set your Scarecrow free?"
"Yes," affirmed Nathaniel.
"Alright," said Droopy in understanding. "I'll get my coat."
As he went out of his office to go to the wardrobe, Kitty, Nathaniel, and Mr Pointy etc stared after him.
"I didn't think that would be so easy," admitted Kitty.
"Don't say that," said Nathaniel darkly. "It will immediately become harder."
"Oh, that's just typical nihilist pessimistic fatalistic magician's view," said Kitty scornfully. "What proof do you have of that?"
"Well, for one thing, there's been different speaking verbs for a while now. That can only mean—"
"Wait a second, I have just remembered something!" announced Droopy as he returned to the room. "I was banned from all clubs in that part of my city because of my gang!"
"That the author has a plan," sighed Nathaniel.
"Yes, that's right!" continued Droopy. "It was on that night when we painted every flat surface with mushy legumes—"
"Don't worry," muttered Kitty. "She's going to exhaust everyone and herself soon."
"—And the clotted blood from our enemies' abraded corpses!"
Silence.
"So we must form a plan," said Droopy, screwing his face up with thought. "I'll go get my thinking hat!"
"I don't think it's a really good idea to invite the narration to your attention," Mr Pointy mentioned in the way such of his name.
"So now we must plan!" announced Droopy, a ten-gallon hat with an arrow through it on his head. "Because I have just an idea you two could help with," he looked slyly in the magician and commoner's direction.
Think I'm gonna run out of surprises, huh? Only when you tie me to a rock by my own entrails! MWAHAHAHA!
-xxx-
There was a tap on the door. Droopy opened it.
There stood Carl Mortensen.
Minister of War.
They stare at him.
That is, a bland, middle-aged magician. He advocated the war in America.
"Oh," they said.
"I need your help," he said. "For I am the Cowardly Lion."
They stare at him, still.
He was captured in the theatre, and not much else happened to him. He might have been possessed and killed. I'm not sure.
"Hi," said Bartimaeus.
. . . OK, then.
Where in the World is the Cowardly Lion? Part III Ending Scene Example ILV-vii!
ROI: OK. That won't be happening.
Mortensen: I just didn't understand my motivation.
ROI: Dude, you're the Cowardly Lion! It explains itself! Oh, it doesn't matter. I've got the guy already.
Mortensen: Speak the speech, I pray you. I have business to attend to, anyway.
ROI: Muttering : Ooo, Shakespeare, now. As you like it.
Mortensen: Nothing really matters, to me.
ROI: And Queen! Aren't we posh? I'm just apoor author, nobody loves me . . .
-xxx-
"I don't believe it," said Nathaniel miserably.
"I had no idea the author would stoop so low," said Kitty in a deadpan way.
"The fishnets are killing me," moaned the boy.
"I knew he's get a rip in them," the girl muttered. "And that skirt does not go with that jacket."
"It's too thick," Nathaniel agreed.
Kitty sighed. "The mascara is horrible."
"Well, your make-up work is terrible," Nathaniel shot back.
"OK! Make-up is not my thing," Kitty snapped. "Besides, that colour wouldn't even look good on me!"
"But the hair is perfect," admitted Nathaniel.
"And he's very adept at those heels," Kitty added.
They look solemnly across the street to where Sergeant Droopy waved to their rooftop and strutted to the club entrance.
"Where'd he get that spangly hair-gel stuff anyway?" Kitty wondered aloud.
"We really shouldn't be asking that," said Nathaniel, dressed in a slightly looser suit of his own with no fishnets anywhere. "This should be enough for the author."
It is, it is. And he's lending that stuff to me for the crows. That oughta rack up enough for a few more chapters, right?
"Actually," said Leonard etc. etc. III, situated not in the fictional universe but somewhere else. "I charge double rates for public holidays and late submissions."
That man is scary. : Paranoid glancing :
Strutting very convincingly, Sergeant, er, let's see . . . Drusilla, (What? It's a real name! Did you think I was going to say 'Droopina' something?) comes to the line in front of Silhouetted Nightmare. Flashing a strawberry-glossed (courtesy from a packet I got for my birthday. It's also got Vanilla and Chocolate) smile at the club's bouncer, he/she produces his/her ID.
"Drusilla Droopina," read the bouncer from the ID, proving his over-qualification for a bouncer and what a sheer waste of time it is to develop elaborate clever plots for Original Characters to mess up.
"What? It is my name!" said Drusilla Droopina.
Let's just forget all about that, lest I fail suppressing an urge to call you Fred, or something equally horrible . . . like Tristan or Teá! (3. Trivia later!)
"Hey! Is that you, Mr Droopy?" asked the bouncer in surprise.
"Maybe. But if you know what's good for you, Little Teapot of Boiling Water, you'll keep quiet!" Droopy loomed menacingly over the man.
"Yes, Master of Horrible Comic Irony," whimpered the bouncer, as Droopy strode past.
Kitty passed the binoculars to Nathaniel. "Do you think there's something weird about him?"
Nathaniel gracefully let the stupid question slide.
The commoner looked at her sock-puppet-ed hands. "Don't you think there's something strange about all the—"
"Phase One is complete," announced the magician. "Now we must prepare for Phase Two."
"Which is?" asked Kitty.
"To secure entry and exit out of the establishment, in the event of any destructive situation," he said, standing up purposefully and heading to the side-ladder.
"We never discussed that!" said Kitty to his marching-away back.
"Well, we should have!"snapped back Nathaniel.
-xxx-
There were two sharp raps on the door.
"Who is—?" Droopy tried to say, before the door blew up and a great malevolent presence was felt.
"Cower in fear, mortals!" bellowed the indistinct hulking form of Nouda. "For I am the Cowardly Lion!"
Where in the World is the Cowardly Lion? Part III Ending Scene Example CCXXV-v Paragraph 15a!
ROI: Dudes, I ain't speaking to the conclusion-consolidating character AND KILLER OF NATHAN—
Nathaniel: What are you talking about?
ROI: How good you would look with the spangly hair-spray stuff I'm going to give to Leonard.
Nathaniel: Leaving!
ROI: Muttering : Poor soul.
-xxx-
Blending in masterfully in the crowd, Drusilla Droopina (for the sake of my self-respect, let's say it's his humourous codename) carefully watched for any suspicious characters.
"Hey there, sweetheart," winked a tall slender . . . man?
"Want in on some action?" winked a baby-faced peppy . . . girl?
"We can make it worth you while," winked a . . . purple-haired squinty-eyed priest?
Droopy stopped, looking around. "Do you . . . have licenses?"
The character pause, and glance at each other.
"I do!" piped up the purple-sneaky-priest. "Cameo Character Gold Visa for all genres!"
"I fear mine may have expired, but not so long ago that I need to be arrested," admitted the rather-eccentric-snake-man. "But could I tell you my story?"
The peppy girl looked around at the accusing looks surrounding her.
"Alright! So my stupid allegorical manga universe doesn't let me cross genres! I don't care! I'm going back to my Utena!" she cried and ran off.
"Right. That fills the author's cameo quotient from now on," said Droopy, filling out a slip that he then handed to the 'priest'. "Just remind her that her 4U7H0R'5 rebate for the tax is running low.
"Will do," said the priest, winking.
What a coincidence I'm learning about tax now.
-xxx-
There was a crescendo of running feet.
"Who is— Droopy tried to say, before the—
"MORE BOILING OIL PLEASE!" screamed Rincewind, failed wizard, in the language of a remote tribe that earned an unfortunate reputation due to the similarity to this phrase to a frightened scream.
He knocked over Bartimaeus and promptly leapt out the window and continued screaming down the street.
"Who's a purple hippo?" demands Bartimaeus, spitting out woodchips (this translation coming from the Aurient, which means 'place of gold')
"He would make a great Cowardly Lion," commented Kitty.
Where in the World is the Cowardly Lion? Part III Ending Scene Example—There was more running feet.
"Wait a second, it's not over yet," said Droopy.
Lots of running feet. It sounded like a hundred.
"Stay back," said Droopy heroically, holding Nathaniel and Kitty behind him. "I'll—"
The door burst open more violently than before, shattering it into splinters that would trouble the average sized Marid. Emerging from the dust was what looked like a large travelling chest in everyway except for the feet. It had many pairs of them, all bare and calloused.
It appeared to sniff the air (with what?), listen intently around (with what?), and finally looked around the circle at the scared characters (with what!).
It then calculated (with what?), aimed (with what?), and finally decided (with I don't want to know what). Then it ran over Droopy and the Canon characters bar Bartimaeus, and straight through the wall after the screaming wizard Rincewind.
Where in the World is the Cowardly Lion? Part III Ending Scene Example MIX-xxiv special limited edition offer of xii-V-MMVI!
ROI: Heh-heh. I have to do a Discworld Wizard of Oz sometime. The only problem is finding characters not just one-shot.
Bartimaeus: Hey! I hardly got hurt in that one!
ROI: Just take it as gratitude for being such good sport for the past . . . eight chapters.
: A rather inoffensive Auriental tourist comes in, accidentally stepping on Bartimaeus's head as he reads from a book :
Twoflower, the Discworld's first tourist: Has anyone seen my luggage, travelling case, burden, to carry a burden . . .
-xxx-
Half-a-dozen would-be kidnappers stare as Droopy downs his fifth mug of spiked beer and wipes his mouth delicately.
"Mmm, that one had a nice tang to it," he giggled, and started reapplying his strawberry lipgloss with a compact. "Would you boys like another?"
The gaping kidnappers slowly shake their heads.
"Are you sure you're a—?"
ROI storms on set, points to them, and shouts: "ATTACK!"
A furious cloud of crows swoop them up, leaving nothing but a few feathers and a couple of alcoholic drips.
"Alright!" says ROI. "No adult themes in this PG-13 fic, understand? It's all your responsibilities to keep this as clean and wholesome as possible, alright?"
Anna sips from her own mug of beer. "Aren't you, like, the writer? So shouldn't it be your re—"
The crows swoop again and take the mug.
"No cheek!" shouts the author. "NO-ONE questions my authority and control over this structured piece of literature!"
Droopy kneels down and places his ear to the floor.
"Sweet Adeline . . ."
"Sweet . . . GOD! THE SEWERS!"
"51L3N53!" shouts ROI. She starts to storm off, then pauses.
"Uh, will I have to pay for—?"
"No worries," says Balderdash III demurely, sipping his non-alcoholic apple wine. "I take that as an emergency situation, and so it's free."
ROI sighs in relief. "OK."
A dozen crows suddenly drop to the ground, giggling, arguing, sleeping and feeling sick.
". . . But I'm afraid I might have to tax you for that," said Leonard.
The author made a miserable sound and walks off.
Charles looks up at Droopy.
"The person you are looking for is at the back," he told him, then paused and scrutinized him.
"Yes, you would look good with curls," he adds.
"Thanks!" says Droopy cheerfully, and walks away.
-xxx-
The conversation halted as there came two sharp, neat raps from the door.
"Who goes there?" boomed Sgt. Droopy.
Nathaniel drew in front of Kitty. "If anything happens," he whispered to her, "Run for the window. We'll try to slow them down."
"We?" questioned Bartimaeus, who was already halfway to the window.
Droopy strode forward confidently, grasped the handle, and swung the door open to reveal—
Master! What are you doing here?
"Oh, I was just checking on how you were," said the cunning-looking red-haired entity. "And possibly cause some chaos if I can. You really make the best places and characters to destroy."
Er, master, I take pride in these guys. You can go after the magicians, with some exceptions, but I'd prefer if you left the canon and my OCs alone—
"Of course," nodded the man. "But, really, how are you?"
Um, pretty late as it happens. Can I move on, sir?
"Of course," he smiled.
Right, now, what should I refer to this as?
Where in the World is the Cowardly Lion? Part III Ending Omake Ending Scene I!
"You're using Japanese?"
Yeah, my lord, it means roughly: 'bonus'. I know it may annoy some people—
"Excellent!" clapped the Trickster. "Now I must be off. Your namesake's brother needs feeding. Farewell! If you could accommodate me?"
Huh? Oh, right.
His lord and Trickster then vanished in an impressive display of whirling multicoloured flames.
"A bit over the top, but still a good job."
Yes, m'lord. Farewell.
The ones who love jokes are the ones to be most scared of . . .
"What's that?"
Nothing, lord and master over all you see, bar places of judgement or any other gods' territories . . .
-xxx-
After many more humorous and lengthy meetings with various characters and situations of great appeal/allusion/allegory, Droopy finally made it to the back of the bar.
He surreptitiously sidled (a difficult task for such a sizable so-and-so) aside a stereotypical staff-bodyguard type and slipped out his security ID to see.
Phew, that sentence took some work.
Seeing that the guy was having some trouble reading (more because of the dark), Droopy read it out in an impressive (but quiet) voice.
"Drusilla Droopina, FCPD!"
The security guard squinted at the card.
"Looks more like a coupon for Pizza Hut," he pointed out, not unlike Mr Pointy.
—
"I don't actually work too far from there," mentioned Mr Pointy, scrubbing the work bench in the 'Fluoride City Waxworks Museum.'
"Come on, baby, work that cast!" called his superior with more enthusiasm than was necessary to watch a pose of Brittany Spears set.
—
"$4.95 for regular large pizza between 12-2pm, for a limited time only!" Droopy announces.
"Does that include chicken and stuffed crusts?" asks the security guard.
"No way, n00b!" Droopy serves the man a chop to the windpipes, on the house, and marches through (and over) the crowd to the man in the middle.
Action movie directors, I'm free on Mondays!
He arrives a metre before a lounging young man, stationed at one of the tables most far from the entrance, perpendicular to the nearest entrance, nursing a drink that was possibly a bit too old for him.
He raises his dark eyes, runs a hand over his late-cut hair and says, "What?"
Droopy bends over the table, a lock of hair that hadn't taken well to curling hanging from his temple.
"I want you to find me a man," he states.
"Well, obviously," Nick replies.
—
ROI bites through her notebook. "What did I say?"
—
"Have you ever heard of a guy called 'The Cowardly Lion'?" Droopy whispers.
Nick's stoic face doesn't move. "And who are you do ask?"
Droopy glances from side to side, and pulls out an ID that wasn't issued by the police. It had suspicious black, red and green splashes on it.
Nick's eyes widen slightly as he reads the identification. "Ah. Very well then. You may ask."
He gestures at the bodyguards to move away. A great percentage wanted to use the bathroom, but the ratio of toilet stalls to bodyguards was unsatisfactory, and out of scale I might add. Sorry, just keeping my mind fresh.
"I wish for any information on the entity known as 'The Cowardly Lion' you might have. It is vital to investigation," Droopy draws back, reapplying lipgloss.
A serious look comes into Nick's eyes. "He didn't make you happy?"
"No, it's not that at all. He's being hunted," Droopy explains.
Nick, as sharp as he was, was just that. Sharp as a knife. Sharp as a bayonet. Sharp as a well-applied ballpoint pen in some situations.
"You want us to catch him for you?"
"No," said Droopy again, patiently. "I want to find him, so he won't get caught."
"So he won't leak?"
"No," said Droopy again, patiently (but I didn't type and patiently!). "Now as a responsible citizen, trying to stay sane in an insane world, I want to rescue him. I'm a cop."
All patrons of the Silhouetted Nightmare draw back in revulsion.
"So that's why you're wearing that!" said a placeless person.
"That, among other things," says Droopy. "But that is pointless. Please tell me all you know about this character, so I can close this case, and live happily ever after with the prints of my dream.
: Brief, unexplored flashback of CLEAN Disney comics :
"Ah, Donald, you never have any luck," Droopy wipes his eyes. "Anyway, give me the information now, please. If I have to ask again, I'm going to shove this broken bottle into your stomach," he demonstrated his new broken bottle.
Nick, sharp as a knife, bayonet etc. etc., could catch on sooner or later. He took a sip of his suddenly changed glass of orange juice.
"I'm sorry (no artificial colours or flavours), but I can't give you very much information on this character," says Nick delicately, while keeping a briefcase between his stomach and the bottle.
"Why not?" asks Droopy politely, twisted the pointed end in the shiny leather.
"Because he is the type I do not want to associate with," the boy states.
"Why not?" Droopy repeats politely, having made a bottle-shaped hole in the briefcase (which, coincidental, was purchased at the equivalent of Kitty's father's store in this dimension. Really makes your brain hurt.)
"Because," said Nick, here his lips twisting slightly. "He is a magician."
Bam, bam, BAUM!
-xxx-
There is a knock at the door. Droopy goes to it, but it is flung open just as he got there, nearly breaking his nose.
"Oro?" goes a poor, red headed samurai with backwards blade.
"Help him, he's the Cowardly Lion, etc. etc.," states ROI, hauling the unfortunate cameo character away by the collar. "Where in the World is the Cowardly Lion? Part III Ending Scene Example XXXLIX-ix special limited edition offer of xvi-VI-MMVI!"
As the rushed author disappears, you could hear her mutter.
"In, out, in ten sentences or less, no charge."
-xxx-
"So, you got out," said Nathaniel.
"Yes," said Droopy.
"You got out, through the back door?" asked Kitty.
"Yes," affirmed Droopy.
"After we climbed through the vents," Nathaniel checks.
"Yes."
"And accidentally ended up landing on a line of irately waiting security guards," Kitty continues.
"Yes."
"Well, as long as you got some information on the Cowardly Lion character," Bartimaeus sighs, pulling absent-mindedly at the metal cuffs around his wrists. They were plastic, but a dense sort of plastic that one would never want to meet in a back alley, or playground.
"No," negates Droopy.
"Pardon?" Nathaniel asks, stopping from checking his hair for toilet paper.
"No, I couldn't find out much information about the Cowardly Lion," Droopy elaborated.
There is a pause, the kind that happens in situations like this.
"WHAT?" shout Commoner, Magician and Furious Entity, very loudly, in an enclosed area, in a place headquarters. Mr Pointy watches his card castle fall down. Other officers shift in their sleep.
"Altogether, not a bad night!" said Droopy cheerfully. "I got to dress up, see old friends, and yous got to know each other better, and fight a dozen desperate bodyguards out of a stall."
"Well, I can't see how this could possibly progress," Bartimaeus points out.
There is a frenzy of running feet. Someone comes panting up the hallway, to the door—
SLAM!
—Subsequently into the door.
"Oh dear!" exclaimed Droopy. "Who might that be?"
After much gasping and heaving, the person wrenches open the door, and stands framed in the hall light as no greater than . . . drum roll, please . . . Arthur Underwood!
"I need . . . : wheeze : your help : cough : for I am the . . . : cough, gasp, wheeze : "
He faints in the doorway.
All other occupants stare at him.
"This isn't Example MMVDILIX, is it?" Nathaniel asks, hopefully.
Please . . . : wheeze : no . . .
Wow! I finally got. I finally got it, after all these . . . weeks.
Anyway, there is little to say, except apologise, and I will gladly post a solid paragraph of apologises to everyone who asks (Note: Apologises posts only available in repetitive 'SORRY SORRY SORRY' type. Sorry).
Disclaimers: not done by the hyperventilating older magician, if you don't mind. Uh, spare person? Somebody?
: A brief consultancy with many characters :
"Thank you," says Bartimaeus, working out the kinks in his body from being imprisoned in insufficient space. "Now, I shall read out the disclaimers, with great appreciation that the author has granted me such a delightful request."
He drops his voice to a whisper. "Everyone who's with me, get her after the post. Ready?"
"Dude, I can hear you. I write this stuff. Get on with it."
"Ignoring Monty Python reference. The author, in her many, many other bounties, does not own the following: 'The Bartimaeus Trilogy'; 'The Wizard of Oz'; Dr Seuss' works; barber shop quartets; Terry Pratchett; Ruroni Kenshin; the crazy BADGERBADGERBADGER animation; any historic oaths; Ayame Sohma, from Fruits Basket; Wakaba, from Revolutionary Girl Utena (awesome manga); Xelloss, from Slayers; Rincewind, the Luggage, and Twoflower, from Pratchett's Discworld; Pizza Hut; the ballpoint pen and Kenshin Himura, from Ruroni Kenshin. Oh yeah. That speaking feeling's feeling great."
Bartimaeus took a deep breath, what he could do with it is anyone's guess, and surreptitiously snuck away so somebody could not see him.
Ah, let him go. I'm too happy.
Footnotes! Down here! Woo!
(1) BM stands for the British Museum, PB is the Parliament building, and RH is the Rhesus Factor— whoops! The Richmond House. I should keep track of my notes.
(2) Nightmare Silhouette is a band that once included one of my classmates. He has, sadly, moved away. The name, and their music, is pretty good, but I don't own it. He was quite a character. Frazer will live on in memory!
(3) This is reference from the horribly treated Yu-Gi-Oh dub. Tristan and Teá were Honda and Anzu, changed because I don't think the American market wants to recognize the blatant Japanese influence in the animation. Pretty silly, since that is the country they get anime from.
The list of "All I Ever Needed to Know in Life I Learned From the Bartimaeus Trilogy" so far
1. 1. If you are at first a brief mention, then a helpful plot point, you will warp into becoming the main plotter in the conclusion of the book then get yourself killed (AKA Makepeace)
2. If your name is a phrase relating to goodwill, you must be bad.
3. If you are a stubborn, unreasonable, shouting prat who will not accept the wisdom of an older character or let go of a grudge, you will become a popular character. And maybe die, negating all your past mistakes.
4. If you are a sarcastic, jaded, ancient violent entity with a smart mouth and dumb mistakes, and narrate in first person, you will have a series named after you and become a popular character. And kind things will happen to you when you are certain everything is cruel and evil.
5. If you have been repressed and held in distain by a class of people, and try to cause a revolution against them, all your friends will die, your parents will become estranged, you will get beaten up, betrayed, do something nice for the person who betrayed you, and still never get up. Then possibly fall in love for one of those who repressed you, who will then sacrifice himself, making it impossible for you to hold a grudge. (All me)
6. If you have to build a wall, Get a troop of weaker entities entities to do it for you. (By Enigma. The Exception To Every Rule, thank you.)
7. Governments are unconditionally corrupt. I knew it.
8. Self-preservation at all costs.
9. Trying to kiss a dolphin is inadvisable.
10. Three little cubes make one BIG explosion.
11. In the event of breaking through magical defenses, always check for a second nexus.
12. Can't sleep. Monkey'll get me. shudder
13. Stay the hell away from big ominous black clouds that suck warmth and light from the air, etc.
14. Kissing up will get you incredibly far.
15. Don't obsess over little things and lose track of the big picture.
16. Kitty and Nathaniel are tehTRUElurve 4ever omg!11!1 (All from The Thirteenth Councilor)
17. Um, this is a pathetic attempt. Sorry. (I won't count this one, if you don't mind.)
By the way, if anyone's interested, I did give to charity. Three dollars for orphans in Uganda. Blessings upon the little dears.