Hannah's · Novel

The Overlord had paid a handsome fee of several dozen large, shiny coins for her golden wetsuit. The tailor had wondered what a ferret could possibly want with a wetsuit, but he needn’t have been so confused.
“Because,” explained the Evil Ferret Overlord, “Sometimes I wish to swim in the open waters without villagers pestering me for favors. A shiny wetsuit would blind them and clear them from the beaches.”
“Wouldn’t showing up in your birthday suit achieve the same effect.?”
“A ferret’s birthday suit inspires the necessary horror, but none of the necessary awe. Besides, when the light isn’t so bright, the sparkles give the whole Swimming Ferret effect a certain dramatic flair. Flair is important.”
The Overlord studied her reflection, and found it adequately reflective. She checked the clock above the mirror and found she had just enough time to prepare for her small-scale havoc-wreaking. She darted back down the stairs, and out the front door. Silently, she slipped off the drawbridge and into the cold water, swimming down to the bed of the moat.
Keeper increased his rowing speed, humming to himself, and wondering if he ought to hire a band to help keep a steady rhythm. His thoughts drifted to the algae. The bottom of the moat was hard to see, despite the fact that it was a clear day. As he squinted into the water, he saw a flash, then a ripple, and then the surface of the water was broken, and Keeper was faced with several feet of sparkling lycra, topped by a snarling, dripping ferret head.
“Morning, Roy!” The Evil Ferret Overlord grinned down at her opposably-thumbed friend.

AN: Both of these scenes occur sometime after the last one I posted. Pardon the gaping hole in between.

...As the words poured forth from Angelita's gaping maw, Fern frond Found herself agreeing more and more with the Evil Overlord's statement that those who used words like "soulbonded" deserved some form of punishment. Stringing up by the toenails and an ugly haircut, while popular seemed harsh (and moot). Fern spied the shiny beads in a vase by the end table. A small fine seemed appropriate. She slowly extended a frond. As it crept out, it knocked over a small portrait of Chef Philippe. Fern Froze. One ill-timed movement, and her cover could be blown. It would be a public relations nightmare for both herself and the Evil Ferret Overlord, not to mention the Forgers. She considered how much pressure it would take to sever a toenail. She curled her toes and winced.
"...and as long as your souls are on the same level..." Angelita continued, barely bothering to pause for air. The sudden movement in the corner hadn't even merited a twitch of the little folds beneath her eyes. Fern pressed a button labelled "suction" and a sub-pod opened and began to siphon the shiny beads. Not too many, just enough to be unsettling once the blathering behemoth got around to noticing their absence. She thought of the many uses the Overlord would find for the shinies, many of them far more practical than storing them in a vase.

*PLOT BREAK*

"Please to has make deliveries!" Philippe begged. "They sees me, they will eats me!"
"It would be nice to serve as something besides a coat rack for a change. Do you really think they will eat you?" Rosencrantz asked.
"Might. They seems to think food-making brain has high market value."
"Well, we'll see if it's as bad as all that."

*Slightly Smaller Plot Break*
To the attorney's dismay, the arrival of the pastries was met not with cries of joy, but with ones of alarm. She had patiently explained that she was "just filling in, but by the third dropping point, the rumors of Philippe's untimely demise had circulated through the village and a crowd of mourners had begun to follow the attorney through the streets. They seemed unwilling to let her return to the castle unaccompanied, so she turned to face the crowd.
"Rumors of Philippe's death have been exaggerated"
"Then where is he?" the villagers cried. "We have a right to know."
"Philippe will return to work tomorrow." Rosencrantz thought for a moment then pulled out a pen and a pad of legal paper, "on one condition: On this piece of paper, I am writing a pledge that none of us will eat him, and we will allow him to make his deliveries in a timely manner. I need the signatures of everyone here."
Unfortunately, the attorney had forgotten the qualifier "only" and most of the villagers chose to amend their signatures with personal messages. By the time they were through, Rosencratz had been deprived of several pads of legal paper and the better part of an afternoon. She slipped the paper back into her briefcase and bid the villagers goodbye.

Authors' Notes cont'd: 1. Am considering dropping the character of Anglita's Mother, and making A. herself quite old.
2. The attorneys may have a fondness for office supplies, depending on the comedic value of this quirk.
3. Must create a suitably maudlin song for the Raffia Mafia to sing.
4. Some of the Raffia Mafia's more loathesome acts may be inspired by the Dungeon Players, rather than being an act of rebellion against them.
5. Hopefully the creative juices will continue to flow.

The woman extended her hand, and the Evil Ferret Overlord crept over, sniffed her hand and shook it cautiously. Keeper rewarded her with another treat.
“This” said Twila, gesturing to the plant, “is the culmination of half a year’s work. You see, it is not, in fact, a plant, but a cybernetic recon drone. Ms. Frond here was hired to operate it.”
“You may remember her work from the Mustelid Mayhem’s production of Metamorphoses. She designed and operated the lights”
The Evil Ferret Overlord’s eyes grew wide. “The shiny, swirly sparkly lights?”
Fern Frond nodded, which may have been a mistake, as she was promptly tackled by the Overlord. “NEW FRIEND!”
Fern gasped for breath. “Air. Please, Ferret”
The Overlord righted herself and helped her new friend to her feet.
“So, how does this device work?” Keeper asked. Fern Frond crawled back inside the pod and opened it wider to reveal a control panel just behind the bottom row of teeth. It was a control panel full of levers and buttons and shiny, blinking lights. Thoughts began to form in the Evil Ferret Overlord’s head. Thoughts like “my, those little blinking lights are pretty,” and “maybe if I press a button, the little blinking lighs will make a picture.” The Evil Ferret Overlord acted on impulse. No sooner had she pressed the first button her claw found, than one of the fronds shot out, and lassoed Keeper around the ankles. He was hoisted unceremoniously into the air. Despite his front of studied calm, Keeper let out a bit of a yelp. Fortunately for him, Fern Frond’s reflexes were quick. She pulled on a lever and gently lowered the frond, and Keeper to the floor.
The Evil Ferret Overlord’s eyes had never left the array of blinking lights, and so she did not expect the swift kick Keeper delivered to the Overlord’s ankle. The Evil Ferret Overlord hissed angrily.
“Uncalled for!”
Keeper raised an eyebrow. “And causing me to become airborne was?”
“Oh, is that what that button does?” The Overlord was unnerved by her keeper’s stare. “But you seem to be unharmed. And now I have been grieviously wounded” whimpered the Evil Ferret Overlord.
“Oh, don’t be silly. Tis merely a flesh wound. Look, something shiny.” Keeper pointed to the lights, which were still blinking steadily. For the moment, the attention and wrath of the Evil Ferret Overlord was diverted.

What it was, was a large, potted plant, lit by several glowing grow lights. It appeared to be a sort of cross between a fern and a Venus flytrap. It raised a frond and waved at them, and opened it’s pod, revealing two neat rows of grinning, pointed fangs.
“YEEEK!” Cried the Evil Ferret Overlord. She crouched behind Keeper for protection. Keeper turned around.
“I think it can see you, EFO.” Said Keeper.
The Overlord shook her head. “Nope. I refuse to believe the thing can see me. Not happening. Sorry.”
“Vegetables no is should has teeths.” Declared Philippe.
“A ten-foot-tall ferret is hard to hide, EFO. Next time you might wish to take into account the disparity in our heights before choosing your hiding place.”
“Shuddup.” The Evil Ferret Overlord sulked, reaching for her new sparkly sword. She felt like smiting something. The Pod began to open wider, and out stepped a woman dressed in green leggings and tunic. The Evil Ferret Overlord hissed and lunged for the stranger. Realizing the impossibility of stopping a Ten-Foot-Tall lunging ferret, the weapons forgers pushed the strange woman out of the way of the lunge. Keeper threw a treat in the opposite direction. The velocity of the Evil Ferret Overlord’s lunge changed to facilitate treat munching, but she never took her eyes off the strange intruder.
“She’s Good People, Ferrety one. She operates our new reconnaissance lasso drone.”
“Fern Frond, at your service.”

...More later. Stupid retail.

Author's Note: Apologies for the briefness. Details at sparkleferret

Alter returned to the edge of the pool and climbed onto the overlord’s outstretched hand, and stepped delicately onto the edge of the pool. She shook off the water, and headed off for a pile of warm-looking towels to burrow in. Keeper was none too pleased, as he had only just recently washed them. He moved towards the towels to retrieve the creature but was stopped by a larger, fuzzier creature lifting him out of the air by his collar. He was dropped unceremoniously by a corner of the pool.
“Roy, let the weasel burrow.” Said the Evil Ferret Overlord.
“I just washed those towels yesterday. They do not need to be covered in ferret fur.” Keeper protested.
“Sheddy towels are not nearly as inconvenient as Wet Ferret Smell.” The Evil Ferret Overlord reasoned.
“Wet Ferret Smell equals very pervasive.” Agreed Philippe.
“You can clean the towels then, next time” said Keeper.
“We’ll see about that.” The Evil Ferret Overlord stretched out along the edge of the pool and trailed a sharp claw through the water, just to make sure that Maureen the duck was suitably nervous. Maureen remained on the other side of the pool, picking at her wetsuit. In her hybrid brain, she had an image. One which suggested that something had been on that wetsuit. Something that enabled her to fly a little better. Lots of somethings, actually. Somethings kind of like that stuff above her eyes and on her head and neck, but thicker. They came in groups. Maureen could see these things, but the word “feathers” had long since slipped from her memory, as had the majority of the English language, and the few foreign words she had picked up from following the more worldly dungeon denizens around, so she contented herself to pick at the wetsuit and study her feet, which also seemed wrong.
“Almost is pitiful.” Philippe commented.
“Almost. But meddling publicity-whore dancers deserve to be smitey-smite-smitten. Pitying is most unferrety anyway, unless harm has come to one’s own ferrety self.” The Evil Ferret Overlord chuckled as Maureen flailed back and forth.

Author's note: I'm sure I will need at least two paragraphs between the previous installment and this one

Alter surveyed the pool for that one special minnow; one that could be given a chomp and a gulp. The one that could fill Alter’s belly with minimal effort. She zeroed in on a flash of silver, and slipped into the water, not realizing that someone else in the pool was hungry too. Alter was just about to make her jaws go snap, when all of a sudden a hand reached out and encircled the minnow. Loosely translated into English, Alter’s thoughts went something like: “wrong. Mine! KILL!!!!!” Above water, Keeper was risking great wrath from the Evil Ferret Overlord by chuckling at the small ferret’s predicament. The hand was rising out of the water. Alter knew the minnow had to be there instead of in her belly where it belonged. Ferrety Wrath had been incurred. Alter latched onto the arm, and held on as it was lifted higher. As soon as her nose cleared the surface, she lunged for the chest attached to the arm, tail bottle-brushed and hissing maniacally. Synapses in Maureen’s hybridized brain began to fire. Part of that brain had, of course, once belonged to a duck. That duck happened to have memories of being a very small duck puppy; so small, in fact, that it would have been the perfect snack for a hungry ferret of the size of the one currently clinging to her swimming attire. Another part of that brain belonged to a dancer who had recently been on the receiving end of some ferrety wrath, which had culminated in her current predicament. Loosely translated into English, her thoughts went something like: “Eeeeek! Panic!” Maureen leapt vertically out of the water, flailing and squawking. She kicked and splashed madly towards the far edge of the pool. The minnow took the opportunity to wriggle free from Maureen’s grasp. It propelled itself back into the water, and Alter immediately resumed her pursuit. With a final, mighty lunge and a fierce chomp of her jaws, the minnow arrived at is final resting place in the ferret’s belly. It had no more thoughts to translate loosely into English. Alter returned to the edge of the pool and climbed onto the overlord’s outstretched hand.

“Kindred…spirit. Right.” The Overlord rolled her eyes.
“I know I’d want a xenophlage-infested, purple-prose-wielding village minion for a soulmate, if I were a renowned chef.

While the Evil Ferret Overlord, her Keeper, and her attorney were guffawing over his fanmail, Philippe was off in town, delivering the last batch of delicious pastries, blissfully unaware that he was being watched. He’d gotten quite good at avoiding his most rabid fans, while still managing to keep the castle inhabitants well-fed. Still, one ardent admirer found a way to pursue him no matter how wildly he varied his route, or how early he went about to start his day. Her pursuit involved not only tree-climbing prowess, but steady output of cheap, tacky Philippe memorabilia. She had even gone so far as to embroider his portrait on a pillowcase.
From her arboreal vantage point, Angelita could follow the chef’s progress through the streets of the city, making notes in her journal all the while.
My beloved is looking especially dapper this morning. She wrote. He reminds me of my dear dead father in that vest. Oh god. He just raised an eyebrow. Daddy used to do that. He did that a lot, because it was his way of telling me how much he loved my beautiful paintings. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest and I can’t help but think that just maybe the universe is bringing him back to me.

<lj-cut text = "Author's Notes> I can't seem to segue smoothly from EFO and Co to Philippe. They need to mock his mail more. I can't help but think that Angelita's gushing needs to be bigger, more over the top. I'm happy with the grossness of her Daddy Issues. Maybe I'll go peruse the greeting cards on my lunch break.</lj-cut>

Rosencrantz nodded to the postman. “Good morning.” The postman lifted a hand, waving weakly.
“Roy, fetch this fellow a postman treat. Take Alter with you.” Alter had long since finished her treats, and had begun to get fidgety. She had a clear view of the postman’s boots, and the Evil Ferret Overlord did not want to take any chances. As Keeper left, the Evil Ferret Overlord motioned for Rosencrantz to stand. The attorney did so, groaning and rubbing the areas on her back that she could reach. “Aww, poor Rosie. Lay down on the floor. I need a footrest, and you need a backrub.”
“Thank you, Overlord.” Rosencrantz said. “Any word on your science project?” Rosencrantz and Guildenstern had both been informed of the late-night surgical antics of Keeper and company, in case someone were to grow curious as to Maureen’s whereabouts.
“We’ll find out when Roy gets back.”
“I’m not called Roy,” said the Keeper, returning with a bottle of sports drink for the postman. (Alter had been returned to her suite, and was presently scurrying about in search of a snuggly toy to attack.) “and Rosencrantz, I’m not entirely certain those feet on your back have been washed in the past few days.”
“My feet are sparkling clean, thank you. I’m giving her a backrub, and she’s providing me with a footrest. It’s perfectly symbiotic, isn’t it Rosie?” The Overlord tapped between Rosencrantz’s shoulder blades with a toenail.
“Yes, symbiotic.” She agreed hastily.
The postman soon recovered his strength and left the castle to complete the rest of his mail-delivery duties. As soon as he was safely out of earshot, the Evil Ferret Overlord dragged one of the mail sacks over to her chair to begin the sorting process.
“Let’s see…bill for the petri dishes and heat lamps, that’s for you, Roy. Couple here for me. Better be praises or taxes. Philippe, Philippe, Gil, Philippe, Me, Roy, Philippe, Philippe. Bah! This whole stack is Philippe’s.” The Overlord tossed the stack down, and opened one of her own envelopes. “Oh, most Magnificent and Wise overlord, without whom we would not survive,” she read, “Thank you for your continued patronage of our humble pixie-dust-dealing establishment. Please accept these shiny coins as a token of our gratitude. Sincerely, Clarissa, Chief Proprietor of the Magical Pixie Dust Factory.” The Evil Ferret Overlord dug into a little pocket on the card and pulled out two silver coins. “Weeheeeeee! Shiny refund for Meeeeeeeee!” the Overlord squealed with ferrety delight. “Where is Philippe, anyway?”
“Out making pastry deliveries, EFO.”
“Still? Bah! I’m bored. Hand me one of his letters.”
Rosencrantz selected one that came in a pink envelope, stamped all over with flowers, and stained with a lipstick print on the seal. “How gauche.” Said the Overlord, ripping it open with a claw. No sooner had she done so, than she had begun to sneeze and gag. “Ack! Perfume. So, we know it’s from a nutcase.”
“What does it say?” asked Keeper. There was a long pause. “EFO, are you still alive.” She was, but her expression was pained. “How many times do I need to tell you, Ferrety One, it goes: inhale, exhale, repeat as necessary.”
“It’s…disturbing.” The Overlord gagged.
“It’s only fanmail. How bad can it be?” Rosencrantz asked.
“Beyond awful. You can read it aloud, if you’re feeling masochistic, Roy.” She passed the frilly stationary to her keeper.
“Dearest Philippe.” Began Keeper, “I know you have no idea who I am and that you’re busy and probably won’t see this letter, but I am a great fan of you and your pastries. I had three for breakfast this morning. I just wanted to tell you I saw you making your delivery to the general grocery today, and you looked very smart in that suit. I hope we can meet properly in the future. Even though I’ve never met you, I think of you as a kindred spirit, because you make such yummy pastries. I think we would be great friends…maybe even more. Teehee!” Keeper paused, “she actually wrote teehee. Anyway…Your friend, Florinda.”

And so it was that life went on fairly quietly for a few weeks at the castle of the Evil Ferret Overlord. Maureen the Duck took to the water, Keeper kept busy with algae experimentation, and the Overlord had deftly avoided yet another publicity scandal. The magical pixie dust remained under lock and key until called for by the Overlord, and Chef Philippe was doing a brisk trade in pastries, in addition to his usual kitchen duties. He’d managed to construct an oven especially for the pastries. It took up an entire kitchen wall, and was retrofitted with cast-off components from blowtorch models. With this magnificent new oven, Philippe was able to produce twice the pastries in half the time. Everyone was quite pleased with this turn of events, and then the fan mail came.
At first, it was harmless enough, a few greeting cards and thank-you notes mixed in with the usual praises to the overlord, but within a week or two of the completion of the oven, Philippe was getting his own sack, and that was just the paper mail. Alter Ego was most pleased by this turn of events. The postman was, after all, her favorite person to attack. When he showed up at the castle door, Alter would scurry forth, fangs bared, and tail all bottle-brushed, to show him how fierce she was. The postman had found this amusing, until the day Alter managed to get a good running start and nip his fingers. After that, he never visited without a sturdy pair of gloves.
The Evil Ferret Overlord and her Royal keeper felt a bit differently about all this new fanmail. Keeper, because it seemed a waste of paper, given modern technological advancements, and the Overlord, because it seemed that her thunder was being stolen.
“You know, Philippe, you really ought to encourage your public to use the cybertext system.” Keeper admonished. “They’re having to cut down more and more trees. I like the trees, Philippe. They’re so…green.”
“And what’s worse, the fixation on the pastries is distracting them from something very important.”
“Oh?” Keeper raised an eyebrow.
“ME! All those backwards village minions have their furless faces stuffed so full of pastries that they don’t have time to sing my praises. I haven’t heard Praises to the Overlord in nearly a week.”
“Oooh. No is good, not to sing Overlord Praises.” Philippe shook his head.
“Exactly. My praises should be sung. I was, after all, the one with the good sense to hire the renowned pastry chef.” There was a pause in the conversation. This pause infuriated the Evil Ferret Overlord, and she stood up and glared and bared her fangs. “I don’t hear any singing.”
Keeper rolled his eyes. “This is not in my job description.”
“Polishing the ego is. Would you rather sing, or drag out another bucket of Ego Polish. Before you decide, I’ll remind you how slick that floor is getting.” Keeper mumbled something vaguely musical sounding. “I can’t hear you. You too, Philippe. You know the words as well as anyone.”
“We all sing praises to the overlord” sang Philippe and the Keeper. “We are happy just because she’s here! She is wonderous, and she’s ten feet tall. Now that she’s here, we’ll all give a cheer, for now we’ll have a ball. Hey!”
“Much better.” Said the Evil Ferret Overlord. “Now th—” The Overlord’s thought was interrupted by a little brown streak, tearing across the room, making what it thought was a very fearsome roar. In actuality, it barely qualified as a hiss, but for such a small creature, it was quite the noise.
Keeper raised his other eyebrow. “Mail’s here.”
The Evil Ferret Overlord caught up quickly with her small, fluffy counterpart. She scooped up Alter Ego and placed her in the hood of her cape, before opening the door.
“Alter, Stay.” She said, holding her hand out to Keeper. He handed her a few ferret treats, which she fed to Alter, to distract her from her ritual attack on the postman. The Overlord had yet to figure out exactly why Alter Ego loved to torment the fellow so. Her best guess was that it had something to do with coveting the shiny islets on his walking boots.

I haven't had a lick of time to do anything story related. I throw myself upon the mercy of the public. Updating will be done soon, I promise, and I will be continuing the story until it is complete to my satisfaction. In my defense, I have been working two jobs all week. This is the first chance I've had to be anywhere near the computer in several days. The Evil Ferret Overlord helped Alter Ego write a Christmas letter to Santa Claus. For your reading pleasure, to tide you over until the next batch of crack is prepared:

Dear Santa, please send me a cow.
Please send a big Angus heifer right now.
It's not about love for the critters,
It's not for the poor bovine's sake.
It's not about love for the farmland,
It's more to do with my love of the steak.
Oh, Santa, I'm in such need of protein,
And tofu and peanuts won't do.
The only way I can be satisfied
Is with something that used to say "moo."
Dear Santa, please send me a cow,
A steer or maybe a calf,
Or a cow to provide me a fresh glass of milk,
Right before I saw the thing in half.
Oh, Santa, I must have a burger,
Or a T-bone or possibly a roast,
Before I shrivel and die
(Wouldn't that make you cry)
And you have to feed steak to my ghost.
Love,
Alter Ego and the Evil Ferret Overlord