Hannah's Novel

Minion Disposal (and other notes)

Sun, 09 Aug 2009 02:48:44 GMT

Note: Inspired by Retail Hell. I forget how I got stuck with the problem, only how I got rid of it, and the feeling of accomplishment that followed.
Any Evil Overlord worth her smite will hire only top-quality minions to do her bidding. Sometimes, though, despite extra vigilance, a dud will slip through the cracks. When this happens it is best to dispose of the minion as quickly and painlessly as possible . Ideally, this should be accomplished with a firm bite to a sensitive area, causing the minion to flee under its own steam. Be sure to brush, floss and rinse after, as idiocy is catching. If it refuses to budge, a catapult can be used to transport the minion from where it is to where you want it to be. Get your biggest and strongest minions to secure their former colleague to the catapult. If the dud has created more work for them, they will be delighted to do so. Creating work for others is solely the Overlord's domain. If the minion you are looking to rid yourself of is the biggest and strongest, get your smartest and stealthiest minion to put large doses of sedatives into his dinner.
Occasionally a minion that started out to be quite useful will have a much shorter shelf-life than they led you to believe. In the time it takes such a minion to degenerate, they may have had a chance to bond with the more helpful, loyal, durable minions. When this happens, disposal by conventional methods may cause a public relations nightmare. Remember, it is important that your minions believe that a life of servitude is really quite fun. Most of the time it doesn't take much convincing, but remember the minions you hired for their critical thinking skills, and moral code. If they are fond of someone who has overstayed their welcome, you may create extra work for yourself, if you fire that someone, and the Brain Minions resign in protest.
At times like these, you must rely on the kind of cunning and clever thinking that got you to the position of Overlord in the first place. If you are dealing with a minion whose capacity for abstract thought and critical thinking is limited, it is a good idea to provide them a menial, simple, yet time-consuming task that will take them to a part of the castle where you are not. For ideas, go through the list of duties that nobody else wants. For good measure, you may wish to assign them some supervision to ensure that they will continue to be useful. File the necessary paperwork to have them designated Someone Else's Problem. (While you're at it, make filing paperwork Someone Else's Problem, unless you are the sort of Evil Overlord who is good with paperwork. Use your skills.) When you do this, be sure to ask yourself "Whose problem should this be?" Make a list of everyone in your employ who seems to enjoy serving in this manner, and one of everyone who finds it horrifying. If anyone on the list of those who hate to twit-sit is in need of some discipline, shackle them to your problem minion and force them to Take Care of Business.

A lot of "The Messiah" was written to bawdy Italian songs of the time. (AN: I have no idea why that's relevant. Somebody probably said it on TV while I was writing the rest of the following notes. This was also inspired by retail hell. I burnt the roof of my mouth a few months back. Someone icky decided we were lunch buddies one day. It ruined the enjoyment of a perfectly good Canneloni TV dinner.)
Livilla pressed a button and onto the rear wall of the chamber was projected an image; an image so horrifying that years later the attorneys would swear that the searing of their retinas was far more severe than the searing of the Weapons Forgers' mouths.
"Are those Dandelions in her hair?"
"No. Fairy kisses." Twila groused, "Apparently when someone kills a flower by picking it, the fairies kiss the ground and *this* is what crops up."
"So how do you explain what's growing out of her nose and ears?"
FLASHBACK
The table seemed to shift as ANGELITA rested her bulk on the bench across from the Weapons Frogers...Decide to snap a photograph of the occasion so they could justify writing their injuries off as a business expense...good to have concrete evidence of why they should be reimbursed for the meal they were unable to enjoy.

Angelita left the invitations on the end table next to her new foliage. Fern Frond saw that they were hand lettered, and that the lettering had been achieved by gluing little rhinestones to some cardstock. Fern confiscated them and brought them to the EFO. Reward. Question to the attorney/drapery of whether they could press charges for Indecent Use of Shiny. Attorneys state they decided against codifying that one due to EFO's fluid definition of "indecent". Law states that Overlord is allowed to confiscate improperly used shinies.

SIGHT GAG: in E.F.O's Media Library: Philedelphia Story, Strangers with Candy, House, and My Fair Lady all listed under "Instructional" "Flowers for Algernon" listed under Satire.

I wonder if the Evil Ferret Overlord has a television show. One where she gives Lessons and The News with the help of the dungeon minions. Theme song "It's an day for the Overlord...won't you be my minion." Today we're going to learn about people in the streets. Now, there is a time and place for everything, but sometimes, little minions, tripping people is just Not Nice." Puppet show vignette about how delaying supper due to bruised shins is Not Nice.

Inspired by Multicultural Education class... On inclusive language: When classifying the squirrels that visit my backyard, should I use rodent-first language?
On Stand and Deliver: Find an excuse for Philippe to cut apples. This is important on several levels, none of which have any bearing on the plot.
(Serious summing up here.)...Hold the Dealer hostage and have someone remind her of Philippe. My ridiculous pining can beat up your ridiculous pining. There has got to be a nugget of snark I can extract here!
What the fuck is with the word Persons? It's people, dammit. One person. Two, five, eleven PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE!!

(More stuff, partially inspired by Monk) Figure out which characters lend themselves easily to a discussion of the idea of inappropriate vs romantic Acts of Desperation. Angelita.
Philippe decorating cake: Healthy idea or not so much? EFO might reward Angelita for learning things from Philippe, exacerbating her own problems. Resultant angst.
E.F.O needs to get more Involved.

Possibility: Demise of Angelita due to invasion and attempt to kidnap Philippe. Kidnapping encouraged by Raffia Mafia (headed by Astral Guy) theory being that Philippe is being held prisoner. Astral guy somehow fond of Angelita. Way inappropriately (he might really be a little slow, despite first impressions.)

Shiny wetsuits make things better.

Wed, 25 Mar 2009 17:58:50 GMT

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.

PLOT BREAKTHROUGHS!

Tue, 02 Dec 2008 23:01:02 GMT

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.

Writer's Block sucks!

Tue, 14 Oct 2008 20:29:03 GMT

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.

The Plant

Mon, 11 Aug 2008 17:04:48 GMT

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.

At Long Last:

Sun, 03 Aug 2008 22:53:20 GMT

Before The Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord got to worrying to much about his nonfictional status, Livilla struck a mallet against a large gong, startling Maureen the duck, and delighting the Overlord and Alter Ego. Gongs are, after all, shiny.
“Ferret! Explosions are prepared!” Livilla announced.
The Evil Ferret Overlord hoisted Keeper into the air. This was not deliberate, but the Overlord wished to read Keeper’s time-telling implement, which was strapped to his wrist. Being lifted into the air was merely a means to an end. Keeper sighed and rolled his eyes, as he was returned to the floor.
“Weapons Exposition time already?”
The Weapons-Forgers nodded. “Everything is in readiness, EFO. We merely await your word.”
Everything was also in readiness in the warehouse. Angelita was leading herself through some deep breathing exercises obtained from a book written by a dungeon inhabitant under the influence of massive amounts of pixie dust. Some random villagers passing by thought they heard someone say “get ready, almost time to push.” Most thoughts needed at least a good shove to get through Angelita’s skull, but that was not what was happening. The exercises were meant for something the author called “a labour of the mind”, designed to give birth to new ideas. It also involved phrases like “ethereal umbilical cord” and “exposition of the quivering afterbirth to the omniscient first light of dawn.” Angelita was now using a breathing technique from the book to give birth to a spiritual connection between herself and Philippe.
[AN again: "I do agree, though . . . that man, with his Aries energy (and a triple fire chart, anyway) can make extremely fast and stealth getaways!!!" Angelita re: Philippe)
Philippe was now several feet under the ground, completely oblivious to the connection that his stalker was trying to make with his brain. His attention was focused on the impressive array of weapons laid out on the long benches before him. The Evil Ferret Overlord’s attention was unusually focused as well, given the abundance of shiny objects in the collection.
Many of the daggers and swords commonly used by the castle inhabitants had been remanufactured using a lighter-weight material. A few of them now also came with added features, like a small clock, and a hollow handle for hiding treats. Livilla and Twila demonstrated by opening the handles and procuring Pixie Dust and a few crunchy ferret treats for Alter Ego. The two ferrety creatures agreed that the craftsmanship was exquisite.
The Evil Ferret Overlord spied an array of bottles, arranged on a set of shelves in neat little rows. They were decorated with rhinestones, for extra sparkle. The Overlord let out a squeal of delight.
“Shiny!! Shiny bottles for me!!” The Evil Ferret Overlord danced a little jig and reached for one of the bottles.
“Careful, Evil Overlord!” Twila cried out. “Those bottles are full of water and--”
“Shiny, stabby water balloon! You two are the best!” The Evil Ferret Overlord was practically bouncing through the roof with ferrety glee.
“Overlord. Overlord! Stop.” Twila said firmly. The Evil Ferret Overlord skidded to a halt, narrowly missing a collision with a wall. “I was going to say, Evil Overlord, that the bottle also contains another bottle full of Oleum. If the bottle breaks, it will set off a nasty explosion, which, given where we are, will set off several more nasty explosions, which are likely to singe the ferret fur. The Evil Ferret Overlord was suddenly a very nervous-looking ten-foot-tall ferret. She gingerly set the bottle back down on the shelf, and darted away.
“What schwas Oleum?” Asked Philippe.
“Volatile Chemical. Creates a mist of sulfuric acid when it explodes.” Twila explained.
“Hmm…” Keeper thought aloud, “perhaps I should take one of those bottles. Just in case of…emergencies. You know, in case I should be attacked by something furry and angry, to defend against puncture wounds.”
The Evil Ferret Overlord hissed. “You singe Ferrety fur, you get Ferrety Wrath, puncture wounds or no.” She smoothed her fur, looking over her shoulders.
“Umm…”Livilla thought quickly. “Here! We have more shinies that are considerably safer to play with!” She took a long sword from a nearby table. Everyone in the small party ooohed over it. That is, everyone except Keeper, who had far too much composure for expressions such as “oooh” His came out as more of a muffled “hmm.”
“This, Evil Ferret Overlord, was inspired by your valiant smiting of the unruly dancing diva.” Livilla announced.
“We let Tory and Stoph help.” Added Twila.
The weapon was indeed most impressive. It featured a long handle, designed especially for two-handed wielding, encrusted with tiny, multicolored rhinestones. The blade was long and narrow, and featured a serrated tip.
“The blade was inspired by Tory and Stoph’s ice skates.” Twila said, touching one of the tiny spines. “This bit is quite useful for grabbing onto materials that snag easily.”
“The kind the villagers like to make into sweaters! I like it.”
“As do we. You can see, Evil Ferret Overlord, we liked these so much, we made copies for ourselves.” Said Livilla. The weapons forgers produced their own swords, which were differentiated by the pink rhinestones on Livilla’s and purple on Twila’s.
“Yay! Shiny! Do these ones hold treats?”
“Err…not at this time, Evil Overlord, but we could modify them, if you would like.”
“Please do!” The Evil Ferret Overlord grinned. The weapons-forgers nodded.
“And now, Evil Ferret Overlord, if you will direct your attention to this curtain, we have developed a new reconnaissance…device…the likes of which have never before been seen.” Twila said, indicating an old shower curtain, patterned with little frogs holding umbrellas. Livilla threw open the curtain with a dramatic flourish. Everyone drew in their breath, and then cocked their heads to one side, and then the next, trying to figure out just what this new device might be.

More stuff.

Fri, 09 May 2008 16:58:26 GMT

“What say you, Philippe? With training, we could take this show on the road. Charge a fee. Free the nasty little peasants from their pedestrian ball-chasing ways.”
“Road?”
“Yeah, that thing we travel on when we go marauding. You know, it’s been too long since the last good maraud.”
Keeper groaned, but before the Evil Ferret Overlord’s thoughts could follow their usual course to full-blown frenetic fury, Philippe leaped to his feet.
“Philippe knows what is road, Ferrety One. Also knows that lunatic peasanty peasant Angelita spends lots time on road. Probably still there is.”
Perhaps being stalked had given the royal chef a sixth sense, because the road happened to be exactly where Angelita was. More specifically, she was on the road headed for a cold concrete warehouse where a little old man with white hair was still hard at work on his telephone to the Astral Plane. In the weeks that had passed, he had grown confident enough in his device to begin showing it off to the most gullible villagers. Angelita, who just that morning had received a shipment of carved faces that could be attached to trees and called “forest guardians”, faces which she had spent nearly a month’s pay to acquire, was one of his more frequent visitors. [author’s note: Must introduce the “forest guardians” earlier on. She can bid them farewell and give them an offering of rainbow-sprinkle donut and chant for a bit. Philippe can hear her chanting, and ask Keeper what it means. Some of the villagers think it means something purple and bad-sci-fi-fantasy sounding, but in reality it translates to “I am old and hapless. Bananas have fearsome nostrils and they may come to eat me. Thus endeth the umbrella stand ]

“How easily you forget, you are in the employ of an Evil Ferret Overlord. One who also employs weapons forgers. Perhaps they have some more of those dynamite bouquets. Those are classic.”
There was a chipping sound, and then the echoing clatter of metal falling on a tile floor. Livilla and Twila crawled through the super-secret entrance, which was located below and slightly to the right of the secret entrance. It was super-secret because it wasn’t used much, and came directly from the dungeons. At the opposite end of the tunnel was another super-secret panel, which was directly across from a door leading to another tunnel, which lead to a ladder, which lead to a hatch, which, if crawled through, lead to the exterior of the castle, just on the other side of the moat. This may have defied a few laws of physics if anybody else were in charge. Fortunately the Evil Ferret Overlord was the one in charge and writing the laws, and unlike certain rotund Scotsmen, felt that the laws of physics ought to be changeable at a whim, and more like Polite Suggestions of Physics. The Royal Keeper had a nagging fear that the suggestions might cause gravity in the castle to suddenly fail. This fear was compounded by the fact that very few of the Evil Ferret Overlord’s suggestions qualified as “polite”. The Overlord reassured her keeper that if things went wrong, she could always go smiting, but she hadn’t yet thought of a way to smite an abstract concept like Gravity, so Keeper remained a little bit concerned

Must bring notebook to work.

Breakthrough!

Wed, 07 May 2008 12:21:26 GMT

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.

Ferrety Wrath

Fri, 14 Mar 2008 02:04:09 GMT

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.

Inspiration at last!

Fri, 15 Feb 2008 18:57:11 GMT

Thanks to Nessa, and Elisa from Project Runway, I now have plot bunnies. Crack is the best!

Angelita spied Philippe heading towards her. She climbed higher to avoid being seen. If only I weren’t so shy. She thought, making her way up through the smaller branches. It’s a good thing I’m so delicate. Angelita was not remotely delicate. In fact, with the tree’s thin limbs, and spare leaves, she was kind of hard to miss. Philippe made a show of peeking into his wagon, and making a panicky face, as though he had skipped a delivery. He did an about-face, and made it halfway down the next block, before the inevitable creaking and crackling of branches, and the subsequent thud. He shuddered, and decided to make his way home by following the creek through the woods. It was a mild morning, so Philippe thought it best to wade back and forth through the creek a time or two, just in case Angelita was of bloodhound ancestry, which, judging from the jowls that were beginning to form on her cheeks, was a distinct possibility. (Angelita had since recovered enough from the bruise on her posterior to hobble back home to write in her journal about how she wished Philippe would kiss her bruises and heal her wounds. There was also a bit about a sensual phantom in the shadows, which she was especially proud of.)
Philippe fished in his jacket pocket and pulled out a little device with three buttons. When he reached the edge of the castle moat, he pressed the middle button and the drawbridge lowered. Once inside the castle, Philippe breathed a sigh of relief. He had escaped, and with plenty time to prepare a morning snack for the Evil Ferret Overlord and her friends. He might have even had time to prepare a snack for Alter. Then he heard the cackling coming from the direction of the sitting room. It was loud and sustained and piercing. For a moment, he wondered if Angelita had somehow managed to slip in behind him, but then he heard the voices of the weapons-forgers.
“Are they going to kiss?”
“Oh, god, they have to kiss now! Look how they’re staring into each others eyes!”
“Their eyes are drawn with magic marker.” Came the measured voice of Keeper. “They look possessed more than anything.”
“Possessed by truuuuue looooove!” The Evil Ferret Overlord said in a drawling falsetto. There were more shrieks and giggles. It was very clear that they had imbibed more crack. Philippe raced to the kitchen, and quickly assembled a snack tray, out of what food hadn’t been grafted onto unsuspecting villagers. He left a little cube of ham in a tunnel for Alter to find, and brought the rest back to the sitting room. What he saw caused him to nearly drop his tray, along with his jaw, for there were Rosencrantz, the Overlord, and Guildenstern, wielding crude marionettes.

Apologies if I posted that first paragraph before. I'm in a bit of a rush. Should have free time this weekend.

Philippe and some Author's notes.

Wed, 30 Jan 2008 17:51:30 GMT

“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>

Mail Call

Wed, 02 Jan 2008 17:50:37 GMT

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.”

Last update of 2007

Mon, 31 Dec 2007 17:28:35 GMT

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.

The psychological test.

Tue, 11 Dec 2007 21:05:45 GMT

Over the next several days, Keeper and the Evil Ferret Overlord, along with the help of Chef Philippe nursed Maureen back to some semblance of health. Livilla and Twila returned to their regular weapons forging duties, opting out of the business of playing nursemaids, citing the fact that they had done nothing wrong, and they had duck-trapping devices to perfect, besides. As soon as Maureen seemed in reasonable physical condition, the psychological examinations began.
“Let’s try some word association, ja.” Said the Evil Ferret Overlord, taking an unlit pipe from her mouth. She held up some flashcards.
“I say chair, you say.”
“Go to hell.” Said Maureen. Or, at least, that’s what she meant. It came out more like “Quack, quaaaack.”
“Interesting. Mother.”
“QUAAAAAACK!” Maureen protested.
“Again, interesting, but wrong. Mothers do not say quack. Well, duck mothers do, but I bet your mother was at least kind of human, wasn’t she?” Maureen glared at her. “Okay, last one. What does a duck say?”
“…Quack.”
“Finally got one right.” The Overlord tossed her a saltine, which she swallowed down in one gulp. “Reflexes improving, appetite returning, shame about the attitude.” The Evil Ferret Overlord wrote down in her book. “Here, have some paper. I’ll take off your arm restraints. It’s clear you can’t talk in a way a normal person would understand, but you’re free to write for help.”
Maureen grabbed for the paper and pen, and proceeded to scribble furiously on it. This lasted for a few seconds, and then, without warning, she began to chew on the paper. The Evil Ferret Overlord snatched it away.
“No, no, no. I want to see. Hmmm…that almost looks…huh. Maybe not. I can’t make heads or tails of it. Excellent.” She handed the paper back to Maureen. “Fine, eat it if you must, but try not to spoil your appetite.” The Evil Ferret Overlord injected Maureen with a sedative, and soon she was sleeping like a duck. The Overlord made her report to the Royal Keeper. “It seems she can understand us fairly well, but she can only communicate like a duck. We’re fairly safe from any liability. I think I have one of Alter’s old leashes so she won’t disturb your rowing.”
Keeper blinked. “What? Leashes?”
“We can’t let her run around, and she’ll be even less welcome in the dungeon now her voice sounds like that all the time.”
“She can’t stay outside. Someone might see.”
“Well, where do you want to put her?”
“That heated pool of yours will do nicely.”
“But it has chlorine. She doesn’t have the sense to try not to drink it.”
“We’ll install some other kind of filtration system, and it has that little half-bath. It’s perfect.”
“We could just keep her tied up.”
“Don’t you think she’s suffered enough?”
“But…my pool.”
“It makes your fur turn funny colors and you come out reeking of wet ferret.”
“That’s because I am a ferret. A ten-foot-tall anthropomorphic ferret. With teeth.”
“So, you of all people should understand the importance of treating the pseudo-animals with some decency.”
The Evil Ferret Overlord let out a pitiful whimper. “Stupid ethics. Make sure to nourish the algae in the moat so the minnows will eat more and breed faster. Not going to ruin Alter’s fun for this nut.”
“Fair enough.” Said Keeper.

Surgical crack. Including a promised smiting.

Thu, 06 Dec 2007 22:33:48 GMT

She put her arm around the Evil Ferret Overlord’s waist.
“You know, for an Evil Overlord, you sure are compassionate. Not everyone would have given me a second chance. I’m glad we’re getting a chance to know each other better.”
The Evil Ferret Overlord racked her brain for a moment, trying to think of whether she had actually ever had a conversation with the woman, beyond “If they think you deserve to be out, you’re out.” She had not. She grinned her big ferrety grin. “Bullshit.” And with that, the Evil Ferret Overlord, skated clumsily away to go giggle at the pervy ice skaters some more. Maureen’s mistake had not been in groveling. The Overlord was always happy when she could get someone to grovel. Her mistake had been in making a cloying attempt at feigning an intention to make friends. Also, the Evil Ferret Overlord did not like it when people she had not made up her mind about touched her to begin with, and she was more than a little bit ticklish.
The two figure skaters were whispering in the corner. When they saw their Evil Ferret Overlord watching them, they nodded to each other, and turned back around.
“Ladies, Overlord. Oh, and Royal Keeper, of course, we’ve been working on a new routine for a while now, and if you are so inclined, we could preview it for you.”
“Please do.” Said the Evil Ferret Overlord, motioning everyone to clear the ice.
“Hooray!” said Livilla and Twila. The group went to sit in the audience risers, next to Stoph’s wife and Victoria’s husband. For a minute, even from that distance, they could hear the figure skaters bickering at each other in whispery tones. Stoph (whose first name was Dean, hence everyone calling him Stoph.) was attempting to fix a stray strand of Victoria’s hair, and she was swatting his hand out of the way. Mrs. Stoph whispered to Mr. Victoria, something about their spouses being the real little old married couple, and Maureen laughed. Unfortunately for her, the Evil Ferret Overlord was marking that in her book as mistake number two. Her laughter reminded the Evil Ferret Overlord of the quacking of a duck. The Evil Ferret Overlord was mistrustful of water fowl, as well as anything that bore a resemblance to water fowl. Keeper had once bought an umbrella with a handle in the shape of the head of a duck, and for months the poor Evil Ferret Overlord had nightmares every time it rained.
After a bit more bickering, Victoria turned on a sound board and music began to play. Stoph and Victoria seemed caught up in their own graceful fantasy world, twirling and gliding and bending around each other, limbs so tangled it was a wonder they could stay upright. To top it all off, the small audience could swear they were shooting each other sly looks, and they had not even partaken of the crack yet. The Evil Ferret Overlord was so inspired that she darted up to the control booth, dragging her weapons forgers behind her. Under the Evil Ferret Overlord’s direction, Livilla and Twila began to mess with the lights.
“Red.” Ordered the Evil Ferret Overlord, “Now blue. Turn on the one that makes it look like stars, now! More red. Yellow, oooh, do the yellow lights!” and so on. The pretty lights really added something, the Evil Ferret Overlord thought. Stoph and Victoria twirled and leapt some more, and ended with Victoria’s right leg encircling Stoph’s waist.
“WOOOO! MORE PORN!” everyone cheered. Even the spouses, because they were cool like that. “PORN! PORN! PORN!” They chanted. So being the good sports they were, Stoph bent Victoria backwards and they pretended to dry hump. Everyone cheered more, and the Evil Ferret Overlord passed around more shiny pixie dust. When a sufficient quantity had been consumed, there was more skating about and squealing at the cuteness that was Stoph and Victoria, and the spouses, who had decided to partake not only of the magical pixie dust, but also of the porn on skates. All in all, it was shaping up to be the very best party ever. That is until Maureen made mistake number three, which she made, because it turned out she was one of the ones for whom Pixie Dust is a very bad thing.
“They’re idiots.” She began, “they married the wrong people. I really think they’d be happier if they all got divorced and swapped spouses. Look how they look at each other.” She pointed, right in time to see Mrs. Stoph and Victoria picking up handfuls of the ice, and throwing them at Officer Stoph. All of them were giggling wildly.
“Yeah, I can see the angst.” Twila said, rolling her eyes.
“You saw it when they were skating.”
“And you don’t think it was part of the act?” Livilla said, already suspecting she knew what the answer was.
“I…I hate to say it, but I really don’t think so.” She sounded almost sincere. For a second, the Evil Ferret Overlord considered nominating her for an EFObie. But then she fell down again, and got a better idea.
“Stupid ice. I’ll be right back.” She got up carefully and made her way slowly off the ice. As she left, Livilla made a little motion with her finger, in the general shape of the letter Z, and the Evil Ferret Overlord saw it and nodded. She took off her skating blades, and fetched her warm boots.
Maureen was watching the skaters, making sure to sigh loudly at regular intervals. She was so caught up in her vicarious angst, that she failed to notice that Livilla and Twila had begun making up songs to the meter of her sighing. She also failed to notice the sound of a motor growing louder, and a flashing light growing brighter, and closer. All this was brought to her attention when the Manspouse let out a cry of surprise, and hurled himself over the rink rim, into the seats. The rest soon followed. Poor Maureen only had time to turn around and stare in shock as a grinning ferret, driving a Zamboni loomed ever closer. She managed to take about two steps, before tripping and falling. The Zamboni kept coming, and the ferret kept grinning. Finally, when it looked as though Maureen was about to be steamrollered, the Evil Ferret Overlord slammed on the breaks, and leapt down, landing neatly on the newly polished ice
“Now who’s…oh, SHIT!” There was a pool of blood on the ice, originating at Maureen’s throat. The Evil Ferret Overlord knelt down and put a hand near her mouth. She was still breathing, but it was kind of gurgly. “Someone get me some towels and a stretcher.”
Moments later, the entire party burst into the galley, which was just the sort of place that could be turned into an Emergency Room, should the need arise. The need had very much arisen. The Evil Ferret Overlord threw on an apron, which had the words “CAREFUL, OR I’LL FUCK WITH YOUR FOOD” emblazoned on it. She took another look at the wound.
“Ew. Are those vocal cords?”
“I’m afraid so. The voice box is damaged. She’ll need reconstructive surgery.” Keeper winced.
“No time! She’ll choke to death. Stop the bleeding, first.” Keeper looked around, found the troublesome artery, and through various feats of medicinal magic, such as tying off and cauterizing with hot tongs (he did both for good measure.), he managed to stop the bleeding.
“We have to do something about the rest of her throat.”
“Must we.” Sighed keeper.
“Do you want the political fiasco if we don’t?”
“Damn fiascos. Okay. Ummm…any corpses handy?” she looked around.
“Well, there is a fowl of some sort in here.” Twila held up a frozen duck.
The Evil Ferret Overlord shook her head. “That’s what Philippe was going to fix for dinner tomorrow, I think.”
“Surely you’re not suggesting…” Keeper protested
“It’s the best we’ve got. Is the head intact.”
Twila brushed some frost off of the bird. “Seems to be. Neck is fine too.”
“Then it’s transplant time. Sorry, Roy, you’re in for a long night.”
“Me? You’re so keen on doing the woman in, you fix her.”
“You’re one to talk about wanting to do things to her, in or out, or combinations of the two. Bites for the mental image, by the way. And in case you haven’t noticed--” The Evil Ferret Overlord awkwardly gripped a sharp knife in one of her fists, and attempted to slice down the belly of the duck. She wound up cutting off a bit of the wing, and narrowly missed taking a bit of Twila’s arm with it.
“Oi, watch it, you!” Twila yelped. The Evil Ferret Overlord recoiled in horror, and set the knife down.
“See. Think of it this way, Roy, her laughter already sounds like this fellow’s native tongue, and you always say it’s shameful to waste.”
“I also say it’s shameful to kill people for getting on your nerves.”
“I saved her didn’t I? And odds are, if she can make human noises again, she’ll give us that big fiasco you just got done warning me about.”
“She can still go to the presses. Her ability to write will most likely remain intact.”
“I thought of that, silly. The duck has a frontal lobe, too. It’s responsible for a lot of higher reasoning. The thought that she’s a duck, and a free meal of drug-laced cornmeal every day will keep her with us for a long time to come, in a far more manageable form. Everyone wins. Now hurry before this thing begins to thaw and smell funny.”
Keeper sighed and put on an apron of his own (The Evil Ferret Overlord found it odd that it was stained with purple frosting. Roy never seemed to have much of a sweet tooth), and grabbed some gloves from Philippe’s workbench. On he went, as the hours ticked by. Most of the business of pulling things out and putting things in fell to the Keeper himself, but the others stayed by, to offer moral support, and help with anesthesia and tool-fetching. They also stayed because they’d never seen anybody receive duck organs before, and the crack was far from gone, and the more they imbibed, the more they thought this was all pretty cool. The Evil Ferret Overlord in particular was feeling rather pleased with herself, and at one point was dancing a jig, until her Royal Keeper threw a pair of forceps at her.
“No need for that!” the Overlord cried out. “I was just excited, thinking how incredible it is that she’s going to be part duck now! I didn’t even know we could really do that.”
“Don’t be passé, EFO. Animal Transplants are annoyingly common. Maybe in some other universe, it’s nearly impossible to do, but here it’s not harder than you eating a steak in less than thirty seconds. And hold still, I’m about to close the throat and open the brain.” The Evil Ferret Overlord did, and Keeper did, and the rest looked on, as the Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord looked over his shoulder. “By the way, just how were you planning to fit the duck’s brain onto hers?”
“With this!” the Evil Ferret Overlord said, producing a jar of grape jam from a pocket. The Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord shook his head.
“We can make it sticky with this.” Livilla offered, pointing to a box of corn starch in Twila’s hands. Twila tossed it to the Evil Ferret Overlord, who caught it in her jaws, carefully as to avoid puncturing the box. She handed it to her keeper.
The Keeper sighed. “Have you got any pectin in there.”
“Hmmm…yup!” Livilla tossed that box over too. Keeper ordered the Evil Ferret Overlord to make up a paste with the jam and pectin. Meanwhile he set to work making incisions and cauterizations to ensure a snug fit. At last, the avian brain matter was in place, and barring any weird infections, it looked like Maureen was going to pull through. Or waddle through, if the surgery had the results they had predicted.

Profuse apologies

Tue, 04 Dec 2007 20:19:55 GMT

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

At last, an update.

Fri, 23 Nov 2007 17:45:02 GMT

The Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord pulled a pen and some paper out of one of his many pockets, and on it he wrote ‘Please put down the drawbridge. Signed, the Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord.” Holding the note in his mouth, he retrieved the Evil Ferret Overlord’s Alter Ego and put her paw in the mud. Then he pressed the paw onto the paper, leaving the official stamp. He carefully tucked the note into a small plastic sleeve, sealed it, and tied it to Alter Ego’s collar with a bit of string. “Go find Twila” he said, pointing across the moat. Alter Ego slipped into the water. A few minutes later, she reemerged clutching a nice, fat minnow in her jaws. She placed it at the feet of the Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord, and looked up at him, feeling very pleased with herself.
“Bratty little vermin.” The Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord grumbled. He picked up Alter Ego by the scruff of the neck and looked into her beady little eyes. “No minnow. Twila. Go.” A few minutes later, the drawbridge was down and the Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord and Maureen, the former dungeon dancer made their way across.
While this was going on, the Evil Ferret Overlord and Chef Philippe had found themselves in a small basement art gallery. At least, the owner called it an art gallery. The walls were covered from floor to ceiling with sketches and portraits in various states of completion and skill. Most of them were of the same person: A person that looked quite a lot like Philippe. What little bare space there was, was concealed by heavy bookshelves, which held carvings of dragons and unicorns, of the mass produced variety, and shock and awe, several books with titles like “The Secret” and “Expand your mind in just twenty minutes a day” and “Do not Give Up: Advice for The Soul of the Single Girl.” There was a sofa in the middle of the room, which must have been a burnt orange hue at some point in time, but which was now sort of yellowish, in the patches that had not been worn bare, allowing stuffing and springs to poke through. In a corner there was a positively ancient monitor for watching whatever productions the dungeon entertainment committee might be putting on, as well as a sizeable collection of cast off children’s toys and games, which someone presumably could not bear to part with.
The Evil Ferret Overlord bent down to whisper to her chef, “What do you say, Philippe? Will it be warmed over sentiments for dinner, or will we be skipping right to the heavy deserts?”
“Snerk!” laughed Philippe, “Ferret, I keel you!” The Evil Ferret Overlord swallowed. After all, keel was Chef for “kill” and the Overlord was not about to meet her demise in a room that reeked of cat urine and paint thinner.
“Why ever for, Philippe?”
“On the account of makes me laugh and gets me the hell in trouble!” The two of them laughed some more. Just as they were beginning to wonder whether their hosts would think it rude to come upstairs and away from the artwork they were so clearly proud of, the woman with teddy bear shirt poked her head around the door at the top of the stairs.
“Dinner is ready.” The Evil Ferret Overlord actually had not been too far off the mark with her crack about the sentiments and heavy desserts. Dinner that night was to consist of chicken fried steak and mashed potatoes with gravy and corn on the cob. The Evil Ferret Overlord was forced to make a conscious effort not to go into dry heaves. Porterhouse steak, all by itself, and grilled (not fried) was an acceptable meal, but generally speaking, the Evil Ferret Overlord liked to eat at least one thing that would qualify as a vegetable every day. Between the pastry and meats, she really did not know if she could stomach more starchy foods. It would take some doing, but it was hard to be an Overlord without impeccable manners and a strong resolve. The minions felt strongly about manners and resolve. Another woman stood up from her place at the table and shuffled over to stand beside the sweatshirted lady. By comparison she was an…impressive sight.
“Chef Philippe,” said the woman with the sweatshirt, “Evil Ferret Overlord, I would like for you to meet my daughter, Angelita.” Angelita was a head taller than her mother, and a good forty pounds heftier. She wore glasses too, but hers were thinner than those of her mother. Her entire forehead was obscured by bangs of the curly, extra crispy variety. She wore a tight fitting, heavy metal band t-shirt and even tighter, very faded jeans. Her nose was pierced and her eyeliner was thick. Angelita was only just a bit younger than chef Philippe, but she had been told by people so often that “you look so young” that she continued to believe them, despite all evidence to the contrary, which was growing harder to ignore. She stood still, staring open mouthed at chef Philippe. Her mother poked her. “Wouldn’t kill you to say something. ‘Please sit’, maybe or ‘hello’?”
“Sorry.” Angelita managed. “Hello.” I just…I can not believe it is you.”
“You two have met before?” The Evil Ferret Overlord asked.
“Dun think so.” Said Philippe.
“We did, actually. Just briefly, a few weeks ago. You explained to that super market clerk what a chutney is.”
“Oh, yesh.” Chef Philippe nodded. Angelita’s mother began serving the food.
“But,” Angelita continued, “and I know it sounds crazy, but we must have met before then, too. I’ve been having dreams about you since I was only thirteen. I mean, I didn’t know it was you until just a few weeks ago, but that’s why all those paintings downstairs look like you, I guess.”
“Huh.” Philippe nodded, smiling noncommittally. The Evil Ferret Overlord continued to eat in silence, making calculations all the while. If an emergency arose, they could flee the premises in twenty minutes. They’d have to finish the serving, but they could run right after. If there were a catastrophe, all the norms with regards to courtesy could go right out the window. The Evil Ferret Overlord had never hoped so hard for a catastrophe, but those didn’t happen often, so she set back to work. If all went well, the food would certainly be eaten in twenty minutes, if they stuck to just one helping. Starchy food did come with the upshot of being very filling. What was it keeper said? (Damn her impeccable manners, even if they were key in preventing the peasants from taking up arms. A smite was far more convenient than standing on all this infernal ceremony.) “Forty for respection, and an hour for affection.” Surely, even that glommy bastard from the field would consider her a hero for making it a full hour with this fawning nut and her mother. She thought for a few seconds more about something to say that would be good for Public Relations. The food. It could be complimented, if only in a backhanded way.
“Thank you for feeding us, ma’am.” She said. “This is nice. Very filling.”
“Well, I’m glad you like it.” Said Angelita’s mother.
“So, what you does when not has clobberball?” Philippe asked.
“I paint, I write in my journal, and spend a lot of time trying to connect to the higher planes. You have seen Professor Cabin’s new telephone to the Astral plane? You know, I’m going to nominate him for an Evil Ferret Overlord nifty Shiny Science Trick award, if you do not think that’s too presumptuous.”
“It was certainly shiny.” The Evil Ferret Overlord agreed. “And you, what do you do?” she asked Angelita’s mother, (who had a name several pages ago, but calling her Angelita’s mother is so much more fun.)
“I’m a librarian at the second school.” A word about the educational system in the realm of the Evil Ferret Overlord: “second school” referred to the first six years of mandatory education, which began the year the child was to turn six. First School was optional, but preferred by most families, who usually enrolled their children at age three. After second school came the next three years at Third School, and finally there was Fourth School, which many villagers made a big to-do about, as it was where the youngsters were taught to function without constant supervision, and encouraged to begin taking classes in line with their interests and skills. If they so chose, they could then go on to the Realm equivalent of University, to refine their expertise, or plunge headlong into a career path of some sort.
“Which one?” Asked Philippe, meaning, “for which Second School are you the librarian?”
“The Growing Ego, here in the village.” The Evil Ferret Overlord did another set of calculations to work out how much Magical Pixie Dust she would have to ingest to counteract the effects of all the processed food. Where was Keeper when the Evil Ferret Overlord needed him? He was the one who had the brains for calculating, and with full control of the opposable thumbs. When she began to run out of fingers, she began to divide her mashed potatoes, under the guise of stirring them. She counted the sections with a tine, and came to the conclusion that she would need about four ounces, adjusting for the compounding effects of alcohol. If she was wrong, she was only off by about two ounces either way, she guessed. The four of them chatted some more about current trends in the organization of library materials. The Evil Ferret Overlord thought it would be a good idea to put several best sellers with blue covers near the front of the library. People were always asking for books with blue covers. Philippe thought comics should be in with the Children’s novels and Angelita thought the books in the New Age category ought to be arranged by color, like the spectrum, and then by author. Mrs. Narcoleptica herself, confessed that she would secretly like to do away with categories, and just have the entire thing done alphabetically. They debated back and forth until an ultrasonic beeper went off, that only the Evil Ferret Overlord could hear. She ahd programmed it while their hosts had been clearing dishes.
“I’m afraid we have to run. One of these days, I should see to designing a self running castle. Nice to have met you and thank you for cooperating about the clobber ball.”
“Well, thank you for the delicious pastries.” They shook hands, and Angelita trapped chef Philippe in a fierce embrace.
“It was so wonderful to have met you properly at last.” She gushed.
“Likewise.” Philippe managed.
“Aww! How precious. He’s blushing!” The Evil Ferret Overlord laughed, pinching the cheeks of her personal chef. Philippe swatted her hand away, and the two of them returned to the helicopter, and made it back to the castle helipad, just shortly after nightfall. They could hear the arguing from the moment they stepped inside the door.
“We kicked her out for a reason.” Came Livilla’s angry voice.
“And it was not just because she tried to claim her boob job as an occupational necessity on the insurance forms.” Twila added.
Keeper pressed them, “What about second chances?”
“We do not believe in them.”
“You did when that guy Eddie let it slide that Pixie dust inspired a lot of the panto puppet shows.”
“We like Eddie. He’s a cynical bastard.” Twila argued. The Evil Ferret Overlord cleared her throat, and the three of them finally took time from their bickering to realize that she was there.
“Hi, Evil Ferret Overlord. How was your dinner?” Livilla asked.
“Harrowing.” The Evil Ferret Overlord said. “What are the three of you arguing about?”
“What did that dancer Maureen do to justify total eviction?” Keeper demanded.
“Incurred my wrath.”
“Evil Ferret Overlord, tell him about all the trouble she caused.” Pleaded Livilla.
The Keeper nodded. “I would like to know, actually.”
“She signed up for one of Joe’s dance sessions, with no intention of improving her skill, just her publicity. Then she decided that another notch on the bedpost would be even more fun. Joe was over the moon, until he caught her gloating to the other girls. Then there was lots of drama.” The Joe in question was not an average Joe. He was one of the Evil Ferret Overlord’s favorite Dungeon Denizens. He had even taken the time to teach her a thing or two about how to fight off the sort of moments that wind up printed in rhyme on greeting cards.
“How much drama have you overlooked in the past? Consistency is a good thing, Evil Ferret Overlord.”
“Fine, Roy. Let her stay. She’ll mess things up again, eventually.”
Livilla and Twila Exchanged a look. “Maybe not. Have her come to the ice rink with us.” Livilla suggested. The Evil Ferret Overlord nodded.
“Let’s all go get changed, and we will meet up at the rink in half an hour. You coming, Philippe.”
“Nup. Require sleeps.”
“Goodnight, then, Philippe.” The rest of the household inhabitants all went their separate ways. The Evil Ferret Overlord did not require much changing, but she did want to make sure Alter Ego was sleeping soundly. She was. The Evil Ferret Overlord dove into a closet, and dug through piles of kicky accessories, until she found her scarf, gloves, and the blades, which could be taped to her riding boots to turn them into ice skates. They were sharp and shiny, and she thought herself quite smart for investing in a pair.
The fourth floor of the dungeon (which had five floors total), held the ice arena. It was here that Livilla and Twila spent a good deal of their free time, watching what basically amounted to subzero soft core porn. Most people called it figure skating, but that was only a flimsy veil, considering all the bending and touching and spandex. Occasionally, Livilla and Twila would skate too, in a somewhat less artistic fashion. They were already on the ice when the Evil Ferret Overlord arrived. The Keeper followed soon after, bringing along both Maureen and a plastic bag full of magical pixie dust. The Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord and Maureen made their way onto the ice and everyone skated around the ice along the perimeter of the rink for a few laps. Livilla pointed to a corner of the rink where officer Stoph and his skating partner Victoria were working on a new routine.
“Aww! Look how shiny!” they squealed. The skaters’ respective spouses (as they were both married to other people, by this time.) were watching from the sidelines, cheering for them.
“Dust me.” Said the Evil Ferret Overlord. She and her humanoid companions skated over to the ledge. They took out some rolling papers and lay them flat. The Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord poured a line of Magical Shiny Pixie dust onto each piece of paper. Then they rolled their papers into little funnels and swallowed the Pixie Dust down.
A ten foot tall, anthropomorphic ferret, while able to cover great distances in a short amount of time on dry land, and while able to move reasonably well in the water, is to say the least, unwieldy on the ice, due to her high center of gravity.
This is especially true of a ten foot tall anthropomorphic ferret that has just ingested mind altering substances. Still, she stayed on, despite her accumulation of bruises, which was starting to rival the Keeper’s own, so as not to miss out on all the fun.
“Hey, officer Stoph! Show Roy that thing where you lift her over your head.”
“That’s an illegal move Overlord.” It was too, in their particular version of the sport.
“Especially when she’s wearing white, I know. But tonight, it’s totally legal. Go!” She swished her cape, and promptly lost her balance and fell on her ferrety tail. Victoria got into position, and officer Stoph lifted her high above his head, looking upward.
“To make sure she’s balanced.” Livilla explained.
“Yes. Balanced.” Twila nodded, laughing. The Evil Ferret Overlord had risen to her feet by this time, and attempted a victory leap. She landed on her stomach this time, and slid several feet across the ice, straight into Maureen, who managed to stay upright on her skates, seemingly without even being knocked off balance for a moment. Maureen reached down and helped the Evil Ferret Overlord up.
“Thank you.” Said the Evil Ferret Overlord, and that’s when Maureen made critical error number one.

More crack. Progress is being made.

Mon, 12 Nov 2007 17:31:35 GMT

“Ahhh, Chef Philippe, perfect timing!” greeted the Evil Ferret Overlord. “Peace Offerings?” she said to the crowd, taking the tray of pastries from the chef, and holding them near enough for the villagers to smell, but not so near that they could make a grab. Some of them tried anyway, but got nothing more than scraped arms for their trouble. “Ah-ah. Not until you promise to leave Farmer Clancy’s field alone, and play in your park or churchyard or something.”
“Yes, fine. We promise.” Said the woman with the glasses and sweatshirt, vaguely, unable to take her eyes off of Chef Philippe.
“Good, now form a line, single-file. You get one pastry each, and the proper names of the mystery ingredients. Chef Philippe, tell them the mystery ingredients.”
“Sodium bicarb and dihidrogen monoxide is just schmancy words for bakin’ soda and water.” Chef Philippe explained. “is basic chemistry.”
The woman with the teddy bear sweatshirt smacked her own forehead. “Dummy me! I should have thought of that. I did teach at the Final School.”
“That’s nice, scary lady.” Said the Evil Ferret Overlord. “Is there a reason you’re staring at my chef that way?”
“Well. Actually…it’s kind of hard to explain.”
The Evil Ferret Overlord’s patience was running out. “Try.” She said.
“It would be much easier if you would come over for dinner, to meet my daughter.” The Evil Ferret Overlord rolled her eyes. People had wanted Chef Philippe to meet their daughters for years, but he was not a young man anymore, and getting round in the gut and wobbly in the jowls. It was starting to get more than a little bit silly, now that he was of an age where he was quite frankly more interested in the mothers. “Don’t worry, I won’t make you fix us a dinner. I do a fine job of that myself.”
“Any chance we might get a proper introduction first?”
“Oh, I apologize. I’m Susan. Susan Narcoleptica. My daughter’s name is Angelita.” She stuck her hand through the barbed wire fence to shake that of the Chef. The Evil Ferret Overlord chuckled.
“Ma’am. You might wish to remove your hand, very slowly and carefully now, or you’ll get hurt.” Said the Royal Keeper, pointing to one particular barb, which was about a hair’s breadth away from giving her a good slicing. The woman let out a startled yelp, and did as she was told.
“Goodness, I seem to have left my brain at home today. You’re welcome to join us as well, sir.”
“Thank you,” replied the Keeper, “but I should get Alter Ego home, and see to things about the castle.”
“Please do, Roy. Also, if you could make sure to stop at the Magical Pixie Dust factory on the way, and pick up a few sacks. The weapons forgers feel like celebrating tonight. I think the entertainment committee forgot to include them when they broke into the stash last night. They certainly didn’t inform me, and now I want my shot too. They’ve also asked if you’ll share the London Port.”
“Well, I’ll spare a bottle, I guess.” The Evil Ferret Overlord shoved a small handful of Otterlys into the hands of her Royal Keeper. Otterlys were similar to the American twenty dollar bills of a certain other parallel universe, though they did enjoy a more favorable exchange rate. The similarity was in that twenty Ferretbills, the standard unit of paper money equaled one Otterly. A “ten” was called an “Erminy”, a “fifty” was a “polecat” and a Hundred was an “Overlordspence”, which was shiny around the edges and featured the smiling portrait of the Evil Ferret Overlord. Those were her favorites, aside from the Ferret Fractions, the coins of the realm, which featured the various facial expressions of Alter Ego. “Please pick up some vodka and a bottle of orange soda. And I know you are perfectly aware of the substance which I refer to as soda, so if you come back with bicarb, I will bite you. You can get some limes too, for yourself, but I would like change back, if at all possible.” Keeper nodded. Chef Philippe stopped him, as he turned to go.
“How you gets back. We’ve got the copter key.”
“It’s only three miles, Philippe. I have legs. I’ll borrow a wagon from Farmer Clancy.” He saluted the Evil Ferret Overlord and Chef Philippe and turned his back to the crowd, and more or less followed the cows back to the barn. Of course, the Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord entered the Farmhouse, rather than the barn, and retrieved Alter Ego, who protested at being so rudely interrupted, when she had been hard at work, stalking a fly that had found its way into the ferret proofed room. The fly had been buzzing about her head, every few minutes, and Alter Ego was getting ready to go in for the kill. No wonder she began to hiss. The Keeper wisely had a treat hidden in his pocket, which he offered to Alter Ego, who felt adequately placated. Ferret Treats are widely known to be much tastier than bug guts. Keeper sighed.
“I really ought to ask your Ego to provide me with a raise, for indulging you so.” He muttered. Alter responded with a huge yawn, and Keeper wondered how a creature that didn’t quite qualify as sentient could be such an incredible smart aleck. He tucked Alter into another pocket, safely away from the rest of the treats. He then went to Farmer Clancy and asked him for the use of a small wagon. Farmer Clancy went to his shed and found just the right one, a large, rectangular contraption, which he and his wife had used to haul barrels of wine to parties held at nearby establishments. The Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord thanked Farmer Clancy and his wife, and headed down the road, wagon and ferret in tow.
The Magical Pixie Dust Factory was located about halfway between Farmer Clancy’s Farmhouse and the castle of the Evil Ferret Overlord. Keeper continued down the road leading away from Farmer Clancy’s Farmhouse, until he came to the school where they had landed the helicopter. He made a left there and headed down another stretch of road, until he came to the old playground. There, he cut through a grove of trees and found himself just across the street from the Magical Pixie Dust Factory. He tied the wagon to the wooden fence outside, and pushed open the door. There was a green haired girl with wings behind the counter, and she was busy reading a magazine. Business had slowed on the weekends, since the clobberball games had started up, and really, she hadn’t expected anyone to be in this late in the afternoon. She waved to the Keeper, not bothering to fully tear her eyes away from the book. Keeper wandered up and down the aisles, gathering supplies. After picking up the limes, he wished he had thought to bring in the wagon, as it was much easier to put things in the wagon than it was to try and carry them all out at once. But then he remembered that this establishment bagged groceries, just like any other retail establishment, and that would be an acceptable way to get them as far as the wagon. When he had gathered the vodka and orange soda, as well as another bottle of wine, he made his way back up to the counter, where the winged girl was still engrossed in her magazine. Keeper cleared his throat.
“Excuse me, but I was wondering if I could get you to bring me a bushel of Magical Pixie Crack, Extra-shiny please?”
The check out chick nodded. She picked up a telephone and pressed a button. “Oi, BERNIE!” she yelled into the receiver, “Bushel a Extra Shiny Magical Pixie Crack up to the front!” She put the rest of the Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord’s purchase into a sack and went back to her reading.
Magical Pixie Crack was one of those things that took a bit of time to prepare. Bernie was one of the few beings in this particular universe who knew the exact recipe and which of the super secret ingredients were to be mixed in immediately before being sealed in the special bushel bags, which protected the mixture from becoming too volatile, until the ingredients had finished reacting. The ingredients were similar in odor and texture to sugar, pine sap, cayenne pepper sauce, and ginger ale, but they had different chemical properties, and the flavor profile was a good deal more appetizing. As Bernie was doing his mixing, and the green haired girl with the wings (whose name was Clarissa, according to her name tag.) was doing her reading, another shopper walked in. She took about two steps into the doorway, and began to stare at the Keeper’s waistline. Keeper blinked.
“I may be short, but my eyes are up here.” He pointed to them.
“You have a ferret.” The woman said.
“You are observant.” Replied the keeper.
“What I mean is…if I’m not mistaken you must be the Roy--”
“Roy, yes. I am Roy, and I am hauling this creature around under orders from someone important, now keep your voice down.” Roy did not like it when the retailers made a fuss over him for being an associate of the Evil Ferret Overlord. Their exaggerated enthusiasm and bad jokes took up time that was better spent rowing, or studying, or otherwise neglecting household chores. Of course, this particular retailer did not seem like much for the making of a fuss.
“Sorry.” The woman laughed. Or rather, she quacked. Her laughter seemed to come from both her nose and her throat, and it did not reverberate. It sounded quite a lot like quacking. “It’s just that, I’m a dungeon dancer. I specialize in ballroom. Well, I was, and I did, until the weapons forgers evicted me for breaking into the stash, and giving crack to the folks at the ice rink. That, and my voice.”
“Oh, really?” the Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord couldn’t help but be intrigued. The weapons forgers hadn’t evicted anyone in some time. He was curious as to what exactly she had convinced the ice skaters to do. “Well, if you come back with me, we’ll see if we can’t get this straightened out.” The woman nodded in agreement, and introduced herself as “Maureen”. Seconds later, the big man named Bernie had come up, hoisting a full bushel of Extra Shiny Magical Pixie Crack on his massive shoulders. He threw the bushel onto the counter, grunted, wiped his nose with the back of his hand and lumbered off to go back downstairs. The Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord pulled out the money from a pouch he wore about his neck, along with his official Close Personal Friend of the Evil Ferret Overlord card, which entitled him to a ten percent discount on just about everything the world had to offer. The cashier looked startled.
“Is the Evil Ferret Overlord Herself nearby, sir?”
“She was at Farmer Clancy’s field when I left her. Some lady in the village asked her and her personal chef to dinner.” The keeper handed the money to the girl, and then the card, which she scanned and gave back to the keeper.
“Okay, then. That comes to forty two sixteen with your CPFOEFO discount.” The keeper was a little bit miffed that the girl had not figured out the discount before scanning the card. It was only ten percent, after all. He made a mental note to discuss the declining educational standards with the Evil Ferret Overlord at the earliest opportunity. The girl handed back his change, which he pocketed, considering exactly how much he could keep for himself. He would have to see about getting one of those vines, which grew at an alarming rate, and which tended to make the Evil Ferret Overlord sneeze
“Do you need some help out with this, sir?” The green haired girl, sensing the Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord’s hesitance, practically leapt over the counter, banging her shin on the way over. She continued bravely onward. And there it was. Inspiring terror, even by proxy, was kind of a perk, all things considered, but the Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord disliked groveling in others almost as much as he disliked doing it himself. It was well past time to beat a hasty retreat.
“No, miss I think we can manage.” He handed one of the bags of booze to his new friend Maureen, and dragged the Extra Shiny Magical Pixie Dust down from the counter himself, maneuvering it carefully out the door and into the wagon, so as not to puncture the bag. The bite mark on his arm from that morning was still a little inflamed, and were any of the precious Pixie Dust to spill on the ground, he could be bruised and bloody for days to come. Extra Shiny Magical Pixie Dust was a precious commodity to the Evil Ferret Overlord, and she had killed for it once, when she was suffering from a severe withdrawal, at the same time that the Factory had closed for a holiday. The victims were a perfectly innocent grove of orange trees that had stood in her way. There had been no convincing her that they were not doing so as a malicious act. She hacked them down, eyes fairly glowing with rage, one after the next with a heavy axe, and then gave the same brutal treatment to the door of the factory. She charged into the basement, snarling and hissing, and emerged with the axe in her mouth, and two large bushels on each shoulder. She had opened one immediately, with her sharp little claws, and ingested enough to take down an elephant, before dashing back to the castle, undeterred by the weight of the bushels, or the amount of Pixie Dust in her system. The next day, the Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord spent the better part of the day carefully gathering up all the oranges and putting them into a storage bin, where they might keep, until such time as more trees would begin to grow, and bear fruit. Which they did by the next season. Orange trees in the realm of the Evil Ferret Overlord grew very quickly. The Evil Ferret Overlord did not provide assistance with this task, as she spent that time curled up in bed, complaining of a tummy ache. When the Keeper had taken a break to grab a bite to eat and to check if the Evil Ferret Overlord had indeed survived her little binge, he found the Evil Ferret Overlord pointing to an Overlordspence on her nightstand.
“Shiny goes to Factory. Fixes things.” She was mumbling
“You sound like Philippe” the Keeper had laughed
“Philippe bringed soup. I homageify by ‘dopting speeeeeeeeech.” The Evil Ferret Overlord explained. Keeper thought about it for a minute, and realized that she was saying “Philippe brought me some soup, so I am paying him homage by adopting his speech patterns whilst I am incapacitated.” Keeper patted his Overlord’s head and took the money back to the factory, and slipped it under the door, along with a note that read “Sorry. Ten foot tall, anthropomorphic ferret in severe withdrawal. For the repairs—Roy.”
“You know, we had better, like, get our sweet little tushies moving if we want to, you know, get home by dark.”
Nobody had said that, that day. In fact, for all the Overlord’s faults, she did do her best to speak well. Also, her laugh did not come from her nose. The Keeper looked around, and realized he had just been in one hell of a flashback, and that Maureen’s laughter, however grating, had just brought him out of that flashback. He really would have to see about getting her job back.
“Yes. Shall we.” Said Keeper, checking his pockets. Alter Ego had been known to wander off and get into mischief. Keeper had an amusing anecdote or two to tell about that, but he thought it best to get a move on. The Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord and Maureen the Dungeon Dancer made their way back through the woods, making light conversation about how well the orange trees were doing this year, considering the brutality of the rampage. Maureen seemed to find everything the Keeper said endlessly hilarious, which was a nice boost for his self esteem. Usually when he said something witty, the Evil Ferret Overlord’s fangs came out. Keeper thought this most unfair. After all, it was hardly his fault if the Evil Ferret Overlord set herself up to be laughed at on such a regular basis. Maureen stopped short when they reached the shore of the moat.
“Ew! It’s like, all slimy!” she protested.
“Oh, it’s only a bit of pond scum. Besides, there’s another way into the castle.”

The next bit.

Sat, 10 Nov 2007 20:15:19 GMT

Keeper took hold of the reigns and off they went, across the drawbridge and through the thicker part of the woods, until they came to the clearing, which indicated the edge of the town. The town was downright shabby, in comparison with the estate of the Evil Ferret Overlord. Houses were generally in good repair, and all major appliances worked in the households with occupants who had the capacity to use major appliances, but they were more modestly sized, and squarish, and painted all sorts of muted pastel colors. A few of the villagers tended vegetable gardens in their front yards. This habit always put the Evil Ferret Overlord ill at ease. She was suspicious of vegetables on principle, particularly ones that could not be distilled into liquor. Liquor, she was not at all suspicious of. Her enthusiasm for drink rivaled that of her uncle’s.
A small crowd had gathered at the clearing, having heard the creaky sound of the wheels of the chariot, and the clippity clop of the hooves of the Clydesdales. One of them mumbled some sort of phrase in wonderment that they had chosen the chariot, rather than the copter.
The Overlord did generally prefer the helicopter. It was shiny, noisy and highly useful for playing pranks on the villagers. One day, when things were hot, and terribly dull, she had devoted the day to removing a few hundred gallons of water from the moat, freezing them, and then shaving the resulting ice down into little flaky crystals. Early the next morning, when it wasn’t quite so hot the villagers awoke to a loud whirring noise, and went outside to find snow falling to the ground. They were completely and utterly confused until one of them looked up to see a low-flying helicopter, piloted by an Evil Ferret Overlord, who was, by turns, steering the helicopter, and dumping “snow” from large buckets. The villagers considered growing angry, but by noon, the snow had melted, watering their lawns quite nicely.
In any case, the Evil Ferret Overlord and her companions had arrived, and hadn’t seemed to bring a great many explosive devices with them, so the villagers bowed and let out the obligatory cheers, which the Evil Ferret Overlord loved. A few of them offered treats to Alter Ego, who accepted them eagerly. She accepted them so eagerly, in fact, that she also very nearly accepted bits of villager fingers. Villager fingers were not generally considered pleasant to munch, as they tasted of dirt and sweat, and Alter typically took great pains to avoid them, but it had been a while since she had eaten a fresh Village treat. Despite their hygienic shortcomings, the villagers were renowned for their skill at concocting delicious ferret treats.
A little old man with bushy white hair, and bushy white eyebrows, and bushy white hair sticking out of his ears, and a neatly groomed white lab coat made his way to the front of the crowd. “Have you come to see the device?” He asked eagerly.
“Sure, why not?” the Evil Ferret Overlord shrugged. The little old man made a motion for the Evil Ferret Overlord to follow, which she did, leaving the Keeper to tie up the chariot and accompanying Clydesdales. As he tied them up, he set to work wondering about what exactly this device could do, and how it could contact spirits. As far as anyone respectable knew, they themselves were the closest thing to spirits that anyone had tangible proof of. At least, they had tangible proof of themselves and each-other. They weren’t entirely certain that their ordinary selves were quite so aware. He shrugged to himself, and scurried off after the Evil Ferret Overlord and the little old man.
The little old man had his very own little old laboratory in a chilly concrete warehouse. The Keeper swished his cape around his shoulders, in hopes of warming them, and wished that he had brought some gloves with fingers. The little old man set up a Bunsen burner and motioned for the Keeper to warm his hands over the flame. As the Keeper did so, the little old man made his way behind a curtain and brought out a weird looking contraption, grinning proudly.
“What in the name of shiny objects is that?” the Evil Ferret Overlord asked, staring at the contraption, feeling more than a little baffled. It had shiny bits, and pieces that could probably explode, but nothing that looked like any sort of communication system.
“I’m guessing it’s utter lunacy,” whispered the keeper, “but play along, or you’ll likely give the poor old fool a heart attack.”
“Awww, man. Okay.” The Evil Ferret Overlord whispered back, still staring at the unlikely looking device. It resembled a disco ball, connected by wires to a Polaroid camera, which was connected by more wires to an old fashioned child’s unwieldy tape deck. The circuit was completed by what appeared to be a lightning rod. If it failed to contact any sort of spiritual realm, it would definitely explode, so either way it would make for an amusing demonstration. Keeper suspected it would do the latter, as he saw no way for anything to send impulses of any sort through the concrete, let alone any metaphysical layers of the atmosphere. Evil Ferret Overlord kept a tight hold on her shiny silver satchel, so that if the explosion turned out to be particularly big, Alter would not harm herself by running after the shiny sparks, which would inevitably fall to the floor. The Evil Ferret Overlord came to the decision that if anything were to happen to her beloved ferrety counterpart, she would tie the little old man up and pour hair growth serum into his ears, so that the hair there would grow even faster. The little old man made his way carefully over to the tape recorder and pressed play. The disco ball lit up, and music that sounded vaguely tribal began to play. It was really rather catchy, everyone thought. There was a faint hum, which grew steadily louder, until it became a whirring noise, and finally a KAPOOF as the lightning rod released a glowing spike of energy into the air. Everyone ducked as sparks flew. When the smoke cleared, the little old man returned to the tape deck, and removed the recording device, switched it around, and pressed “record”, which for some reason caused the tape to play backwards. The little old man had explained how he had reversed some wires, and switched the poles on the magnetic tape, but of course, the Evil Ferret Overlord wasn’t listening. She was too busy watching the shiny. That is, she was too busy, until the tape began to play. It sounded like voices. If they concentrated, they could hear them say things. It sounded like they were saying “In this world, I am here.” At least it did to the little old man and the Evil Ferret Overlord, neither of whom had the most reliable ears. Those belonged to the Keeper, who thought it sounded like “Tilt-a-whirl, buy me beer.” Which actually seemed like a more reasonable thing for a spirit to say. Keeper thought that if she were to die, and go through the trouble of contacting the living, the first thing she would ask for was a bit of alcohol. But then, she probably had been spending far too much time with the Evil Ferret Overlord and various mad scientists like the one grinning proudly at them.
“That certainly is strange.” Said the Evil Ferret Overlord, peeking in her bag to make certain that Alter had made it through the small explosion unscathed. She had, and so the Evil Ferret Overlord was satisfied.
“Anyone either of you wish to contact?” The little old man asked hopefully.
“Ahh…no, that is quite all right.” Keeper said hurriedly
“But…” protested the Evil Ferret Overlord.
“We actually came to see about this strange new game some of your village men seem to be fond of.”
“Oh, yes, sir. Clobberball, they call it. Very strange, sir. A good few of them should be starting a match over in Farmer Clancy’s field.”
“Excellent. Come along, please, EFO.” Said Keeper; reaching in her pocket and producing a bit of grilled porterhouse she had been saving for just such an occasion. The Evil Ferret Overlord would probably shrink and behave humbly for her favorite steak…but only if it was absolutely required to serve some greater good which also benefited the Evil Ferret Overlord in some way, and only if it was quite a lot of porterhouse. To encourage an Evil Ferret Overlord to follow keeper somewhere interesting, it only took a bite or two. When they were safely out of the little old man’s earshot, the Evil Ferret Overlord began to whine.
“But, Roy. I had a dream at naptime about my uncle.”
“The rich one, with the beer cans?”
“Yes, that one. He said he faked his own death to blackmail our teachers into giving us better grades at school.”
“Ferret, that makes absolutely no sense.”
“I know, but right after he died, my grades did start improving.”
“And it wasn’t because you spent hours in your beer can room, with nothing but your schoolbooks and Alter for company?”
“Quiet, you. Now let’s go see about that hobby sport thing.” They got back in their chariot, and traveled down an unpaved road to Farmer Clancy’s field. The Evil Ferret Overlord considered this particular field to be something akin to a holy place, because it was where Farmer Clancy’s cows grazed, when it wasn’t being trampled by big guys trying to kill each other over misshapen balls. Farmer Clancy’s cows were what were turned into delicious porterhouse steaks. The large young men of the village had just gathered and formed into their separate factions. Their loved ones and a good many villagers who had nothing better to do with their evenings were seated on the ground behind the goal lines. A band was playing, badly out of tune, and when they saw the Evil Ferret Overlord’s chariot approaching, they immediately struck up a discordant chorus of “Hail To The Overlord”, the melody of which bore more than a passing resemblance to “I’ve Got A Lovely Bunch of Coconuts.”, the lyrics of which were:
We all say Hail to the Overlord!
We are happy just because she’s here!
She is wonderous, and she’s ten feet tall!
Now that she’s here, we all give a cheer,
For now we’ll have a ball!
The villagers weren’t too talented at clever rhyme, but the overlord did appreciate any efforts to sing her praises.
When the band was through playing, the signal to begin the game was given by a short, balding, dumpy sort of entity. A big guy on one team hiked the ball between his legs to another big guy, who began to run around some more big guys. There was quite a lot of clobbering and crashing into one another, which the overlord found most amusing, despite the unfortunate lack of proper bloodshed.
“Kill him! Kill! Kill!” shouted the Overlord, not terribly minding which individual was on which end of the killing, as long as someone got it, and violently. A woman in a shabby pink sweatshirt with a picture of a kitten hand-stitched onto it tapped her shoulder. The Evil Ferret Overlord hated shoulder taps, and attempted to give the woman’s hand a good chomp, but the woman’s reflexes were a little sharper than the Evil Ferret Overlord’s fangs.
“This is a gentleman’s sport, Your ferretyness. Nobody’s getting killed today.” She let out a cheer as one man threw the ball down on a chalk line. His teammates rushed up to him and a few slapped him on the posterior.
“Gentlemen my ass.” Mumbled the Evil Ferret Overlord. “If they’re so keen on each-others rumps, they ought to join the Dungeon Dancers. I’d say we’ve seen plenty. Now pretend to nod off so I have an excuse to take you home.”
“I am not nodding off. It would be undignified. You nod off.” Complained the Keeper.
“If I nod off, people notice. Here, go behind the benches and set these off.” The Evil Ferret Overlord dumped a few small explosives, cleverly disguised as superballs in her Keeper’s pockets. Rolling his eyes, Keeper slunk away to hide under the makeshift benches. He lit a few fuses and wandered casually back to the chariot. Seconds later the splody balls went rat-a-tat and the villagers seated on top of them leapt out of the way to avoid spending the rest of the week with scorched posteriors. In the ensuing chaos, the Evil Ferret Overlord and her Keeper sped away from the field. Upon their return to the castle, they proceeded directly to the galley, where Chef Philippe had some delicious steaks and what Philippe called “smashy taters” and green beans warm and waiting for them. In a rare fit of courtesy, the Evil Ferret Overlord invited Rosencsrantz and Guildenstern to dine with them as guests, as opposed to a tabletop. There was much to discuss, and much food to be had. So far this had been a highly profitable year for Farmer Clancy.
“So, Evil Ferret Overlord, what did you make of the Astral Plane Device.” Asked Guildenstern.
“It was weird. It made me wonder if Farmer Clancy wasn’t growing something else in his greenhouses besides flowers.”
“It was absolute nonsense.” Scoffed the Keeper.
“Didn’t it even make you think for a second when it said ‘in this world, I am here’?”
“I thought it said ‘Tilt-a-Whirl, buy me beer’.”
“Somehow that actually makes more sense.” Said Guildenstern.
“Exactly my thoughts.” Replied the keeper.
“So what of that new game the villagers are playing?” Guildenstern asked.
“Horrifying.” said the Evil Ferret Overlord. “They dress up in ridiculous outfits and chase each other back and forth across Farmer Clancy’s field and slap each other’s behinds. I suspect someone must be paying them a whole lot of money to ooh and ahh over that nonsense. And what’s worse, they’re trampling the grass! So help me, if Farmer Clancy’s poor portercows suddenly go extra lean. Those villagers will get more than just fruity slaps on their buttocks.” The Evil Ferret Overlord clutched her whip, which she still had with her, causing the rest of the dinner party to become nervous. Her wrath was nearly always aimed at a deserving target, but if she grew more wrathful than usual it was certain that none of them were safe. “Something must be done about that awful, miserable excuse for a pastime. For the sake of the porterhouse.” She took a large bite of her steak, to show it that she meant business, even though it was not only nearly dead, it was really most sincerely dead. </wizard>
“Something must be done about the sweatshirts those spectators wear,” said keeper, “for the sake of our retinas.”
“Eeeugh! Absolutely.” Agreed the Evil Ferret Overlord. “Perhaps we should go around to their houses and smother them with those awful things.”
“But, Evil Ferret Overlord,” protested Rosencrantz, “it would be unethical.”
The Evil Ferret Overlord made a face. “Fine. Then we’ll levy heavy trampling taxes, and make the men wear tutus.” That was also unethical, of course, but it is nigh on impossible to be terribly fussed about silly things like morals and societal norms when one is ten feet tall, and has a prosthetic conscience, which exists in the form of two attorneys with unlikely names. The Evil Ferret Overlord blamed her failure to properly develop a conscience of her own on two things. First, the fact that she had been weaned too early, and second, allergies, which caused her to break out in hives every time she was faced with anything that bore the slightest resemblance to an ethical dilemma. Neither of those things were necessarily true, but her conscience was only prosthetic after all, and prone to malfunction. The Evil Ferret Overlord considered her failure to heed it to be a flaw in the attorneys, rather than herself. “Well, we’ll think of something to show them who’s boss!” Just then, Chef Philippe came in with desert.
“Confectionary munchy treats!” Philippe announced, placing a chocolate-filled pastry on each person’s plate, except for that of the Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord, who generally did not find such things to be tasty, and a ferret treat on the floor under the table for Alter Ego. The Evil Ferret Overlord bit into her pastry. As her taste buds were flooded with its chocolatey goodness, her brain cells were flooded with a dastardly plot.
“Oh, Philippe!” called the Evil Ferret Overlord. “Would you like to come marauding with us, tomorrow morning?”
“I would!” said Philippe.
“Excellent. Meet us at the drawbridge tomorrow morning with five or six dozen of those chocolate filled pastries.”
“’Kay.” Philippe headed off to the galley. He had a lot of baking ahead of him. As soon as the Overlord was finished with her pastry, she picked up Alter from the floor and brought her back to her Ferrety Suite, leaving the dishes for someone else to take care of. One of Alter’s atypical attributes was her apparent love of bedtime stories. As soon as she was settled, she would watch the keeper intently until the story was finished, or sleep took over. She was especially fond of one called “The Bitey Smitey Overlord” which is what the Evil Ferret Overlord read to her that night. It went something like this:
On the first morning of the reign of the Evil Ferret Overlord, she went marauding, and spied ten unruly villagers. “Snap, snap, snap, snap, snap, snap, snap, snap, snap, snap,” went the jaws of the Evil Ferret Overlord, and one little villager was smitey smite smitten.
On the second morning of the reign of the Evil Ferret Overlord, she went marauding and spied nine unruly villagers. “nip, nip, nip, nip, nip, nip, nip, nip, nip” went the jaws of the Evil Ferret Overlord, and one little villager was smitey smite smitten.
On the third morning of the reign of the Evil Ferret Overlord, she went marauding and spied eight unruly villagers. “chomp, chomp, chomp, chomp, chomp, chomp, chomp, chomp” went the jaws of the Evil Ferret Overlord, and one little villager was smitey smite smitten.
On the fourth morning of the reign of the Evil Ferret Overlord, she went marauding and spied seven unruly villagers. “gnaw, gnaw, gnaw, gnaw, gnaw, gnaw, gnaw” went the jaws of the Evil Ferret Overlord, and one little villager was smitey smite smitten.
On the fifth morning of the reign of the Evil Ferret Overlord, she went marauding and spied six unruly villagers. “Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch” went the jaws of the Evil Ferret Overlord, and one little villager was smitey smite smitten.
On the sixth morning of the reign of the Evil Ferret Overlord, she went marauding and spied five unruly villagers. “chew, chew, chew, chew, chew” went the jaws of the Evil Ferret Overlord, and one little villager was smitey smite smitten.
On the seventh morning of the reign of the Evil Ferret Overlord, she went marauding and spied four unruly villagers. “Nibble, nibble, nibble, nibble” went the jaws of the Evil Ferret Overlord, and one little villager was smitey smite smitten.
On the eighth morning of the reign of the Evil Ferret Overlord, she went marauding and spied three unruly villagers. “Crush, crush, crush” went the jaws of the Evil Ferret Overlord, and one little villager was smitey smite smitten.
On the ninth morning of the reign of the Evil Ferret Overlord, she went marauding and spied two unruly villagers. “Clamp, clamp” went the jaws of the Evil Ferret Overlord, and one little villager was smitey smite smitten.
On the tenth morning of the reign of the Evil Ferret Overlord, she went marauding and spied one unruly villager. “BITE!” went the jaws of the Evil Ferret Overlord, and one little villager was smitey smite smitten.
The villagers were all very well behaved after that.
The end.
The Evil Ferret Overlord patted Alter Ego’s ferrety head and went to bed. The next morning, the Evil Ferret Overlord woke up early, and headed to the dungeons to pay a visit to the weapons forgers, Livilla and Twila. She was fairly certain that the Keeper wouldn’t allow her to use anything they might give her, but if it came down to adoring throngs of villagers or a continued supply of delicious dinners, the Evil Ferret Overlord would choose the porterhouse every time. Livilla and Twila had been up for some time, but to the Evil Ferret Overlord’s surprise, neither of them was humming, and in fact looked rather concerned.
“That look on your faces worries me.” Said the Evil Ferret Overlord.
“Some of the artists got into the stash.” Said Livilla. The stash to which she was referring was a magical place, filled with shiny objects, music to inspire complete mayhem, and a wonderful sugary substance, which was not actually crack, as it was non-narcotic and only slightly addictive, but which the Evil Ferret Overlord and her two weapons forgers referred to as crack. It was known to cause strange manic episodes when ingested. If mixed with alcohol, the effects were all the more intensified. Best of all, the mysterious and wonderful substance had very few negative side effects aside from dry mouth and a tendency to aggravate insomnia. Wonderful, imaginative things happened when the Evil Ferret Overlord and friends partook of it, but in the hands of others, it could be dangerous.
“What’s the damage?” asked the Evil Ferret Overlord.
“Well, they’re trying to force a wedding.” Said Twila.
“Ugh! Bastards. That’s only funny when we do it!” grumbled the Evil Ferret Overlord. “Who this time?”
“The one with the stubble, who does funny voices, and the skinny, giggly girl who likes to mess with her hair all the time.” Said Livilla.
“That’s hot.” Said the Evil Ferret Overlord, “but isn’t he already married?” Livilla and Twila nodded ruefully. “Damn it! That’s only funny when we do it! It is funny when we do it, though.”
“Hell yeah, it is!” Livilla said.
“We are awesome.” Agreed Twila.
“Remember that one time we shared the stash freely and convinced the bald cross-dressing fellow and his redheaded friend to go have a snog in the conference room?” Livilla remembered.
“Yes! And their little sidekick with the squeaky voice found out about it.” The Evil Ferret Overlord laughed.
“Thank Myself she’s not the blabbermouth type! We should do it again, just for old time’s sake. With fresh victims.”
“Uh-oh. Evil Ferret Overlord, did you come down for a late-night crack?”
“No, but we really should, don’t you think? It’s been dull down here lately.”
Twila thought for a moment. “Oooh, we should. What about that timid-looking fellow who goes around in a police uniform, and that dancer he’s always hanging around with.”
“Definitely potential there.” Livilla nodded.
“It would amuse their mothers, if nothing else. I’ve heard rumors that it would, in any case.”
“Awww! Good for them. Cute lil cohorts. We will send them something shiny.” Said the Evil Ferret Overlord. “When I return, we can dip into the stash and see if inspiration strikes. I have village minions to smite.”
“We heard.” Said Livilla. “Do you need something to make them suddenly and unexpectedly shiny?”
“Or deeply embarrassed, at the very least.” Said the Evil Ferret Overlord “Hmm…whoopee cushions?”
Twila laughed “Ha! Those are classic. But I think we can do better. I also have some alligator clips and a whole lot of wire taking up space. Oh, and gardening shears.”
“Oooh, that will do nicely!” said the Evil Ferret Overlord. “If worse comes to worst, we can string them up by their toenails and give them ugly haircuts.” Livilla and Twila laughed.
“There’s a reason you’re the Evil Ferret Overlord.” Said Livilla.
“It’s true. There is. It’s because I asked nicely. Seriously, though, tonight we raid the stash.”
“Yes, we must. For the sake of the entertainment types.” Twila agreed.
“Precisely. If it’s in our tummies, it can’t hurt them. At least, not directly, anyway. I will make sure keeper adds refilling the stash to her list of errands tomorrow.” The Evil Ferret Overlord said, turning to the elevator and pressing the button to call it.
Twila called after her, “Have Keeper come too, and have him bring that London Porter we know he’s been stashing away.” The Evil Ferret Overlord saluted to her two weapons forgers and stepped into the elevator, which was now opened. Shiny new supplies never failed to brighten the mood of the Evil Ferret Overlord. When the elevator doors opened again, and the Evil Ferret Overlord strode across the hall to the main door of the castle. She could hear the voices of keeper and Chef Philippe on the other side. She knew perfectly well that one of them would open it for her, should the automatic ferret access panel fail to perform its proper function, but she decided to give it a good hard kick anyway, just to see if it would give way. To her amazement, it did, and she was able to push it the rest of the way open with her left shoulder. Keeper raised an eyebrow.
“Figured out the opposable thumbs, did you, Evil Ferret Overlord?” he asked.
“Nope. Kicked it. Now come, we have minions to smitey smite smite!”
“Just as well.” Mumbled keeper. “What do you expect from a ten foot tall ferret whose battle strategies are inspired by a children’s book.”
“What was that, Roy? I didn’t quite hear you.”
“Nothing, EFO.”
“We can abbreviate now?” asked Philippe.
“No.” said the Evil Ferret Overlord, nipping the arm of her keeper, not as hard as she might, but with suitable force to show both her and Philippe that she meant business.
“Ow!” keeper yelped, “do that again, and the quadruped gets it.” She held up a very bewildered Alter Ego. The Evil Ferret Overlord gasped in horror and snatched her small counterpart away from the keeper with the hand that wasn’t holding the shears.
“Philippe, you’ll have to carry Alter in the pocket of your apron. I have to put this wire and shears in my satchel, and I don’t want her to hurt her little ferrety self.”
“Evil Ferret Overlord, you don’t have a satchel. Pointed out the keeper. “What you have is wires and alligator clips, and something sharp and pointy. I thought we agreed, no violent smiting.”
“Just a precaution. And I do so have a satchel. There’s a potato sack in the helicopter. To answer your next question, we are taking the helicopter. It’s faster and noisier than the chariot, and I want the village minions to know I mean business.”
“Yes, EFO.” The Evil Ferret Overlord hissed at her smart-alek keeper.
“Oh, Evil Ferret Overlord, I brought recipe cards. Thought mayhaps we could distractify the villagers with baking-up projects.” Offered Chef Philippe. He opened a sack of his own to show the Evil Ferret Overlord how the had tied little recipe cards to each bundle of delicious pastry. On one side, it had the instructions, and on the other it read: “Wants more? Go bake em your own self.” The Evil Ferret Overlord was proud.
“See, I told you we needed a personal chef.” Said the Evil Ferret Overlord. They went around back to the helipad, where sure enough there was a potato sack on the floor of the helicopter. The Evil Ferret Overlord put her supplies inside of it and ensured that everyone was inside, and that Alter Ego was safely tucked in Chef Philippe’s wide apron pocket. They landed on top of the local schoolhouse, as it was the one building guaranteed to be closed that day. Also, it was one of the few with a helipad. They made their way down, and started going around to houses that were likely to contain clobberball fanatics. They were not difficult to spot. Most of them had erected flags in their front yard, bearing the crudely embroidered initials of their favorite large clobbery fellows.
The small party divided the bundles between them. They went up to each doorstep and knocked twice, and then deposited one of the bundles of delicious pastry at the front door, before dashing off to the next doorstep. When the last pastry was dropped off at the last doorstep, the small party made their way to Farmer Clancy’s farmhouse. Farmer Clancy and his wife were already bustling about, getting things accomplished. The business of accomplishing things came to a halt in the presence of their best customer.
“Welcome, Evil Ferret Overlord!” Farmer Clancy and his wife bowed. “You heard of our plight?”
“Yes! It’s an outrage! The steaks will suffer. Can’t you just build a high, pointy fence?”
“We want to, Evil Ferret Overlord, but they descend on the field like locusts at noon every day. It’s like they live to trample my grass!”
“Well, then, it’s a good thing I’m the Evil Ferret Overlord.” Said the Evil ferret Overlord, proudly. “I had my chef here—take a bow, Philippe, make irresistibly delicious pastries to distract them while we work on making a suitably scary, spiky fence.”
Keeper was incredulous. “We? As in you too, or royal we?”
“Royal, of course.” The Evil Ferret Overlord said.
Farmer Clancy was incredulous too. “But Evil Ferret Overlord, they love pastry more than anything else in the world. They’ll scarf it down in a minute and be right here, all the heavier for trampling my grass again.” He lamented.
“I only give ‘em one apiece, and tell ‘em it’s super easy to make themselves.” Chef Philippe said proudly. “Then on the recipe card, I writes ‘Sodium Bicarb’ and ‘dihydrogen monoxide’ ‘stead of ‘bakin’ sodas’ and ‘water’ and told ‘em they has it at the grocery. I also might have drugged it a lil bit to help ‘em get addicted.”
Everyone cheered for Chef Philippe’s foresight.
Over at the super market, the scene was one of utter chaos as people rushed up and down the aisles, trying to figure out what in the world were the mysterious ingredients in these remarkable chocolate pastries that had been left at their doorsteps. Chef Philippe had wagered correctly that the sort of people who liked to watch grown men crash into each other and slap each others asses over a misshapen ball were not the sort of people who were much for basic chemistry, or reading the fine print. While they were engaged in the business of gathering ingredients, and things they thought were ingredients (like diet cola, in one hilariously wrong case), Farmer Clancy, his wife and the minions set to work, putting up tall posts and running barbed wire between them. Even Alter and the Evil Ferret Overlord pitched in a bit. Alter dug holes for the posts, and the Evil Ferret Overlord let Keeper stand on her shoulders to string the highest strands of barbed wire. When a suitably nasty looking barricade had been formed, the Evil Ferret Overlord made up a few signs that read “Absolutely no trampling, by order of the Evil Ferret Overlord. Violators will be Smitey smite SMITTEN!” and she stamped them with the royal seal (which happened to be Alter Ego’s paw print) and gave them to Philippe to hang up around the fence posts. Meanwhile, the Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord, under the direction of Her Royal Ferretyness, went around, casually mentioning to people, that he had heard that the creator of the wonderful pastries was right at Farmer Clancy’s farmhouse. While all that was going on, Alter Ego and the Evil Ferret Overlord spent their brief naptime in one of farmer Clancy’s spare rooms, which had been conveniently ferret proofed for just such an occasion. Before long, a crowd had gathered at Farmer Clancy’s. When they saw the signs, and the barbed wire, and the astonishing lack of delicious pastries, they began to grow a bit irksome. The Royal Keeper slipped back into the house and carefully woke the Evil Ferret Overlord.
“The crowd outside is growing angry.” Said Keeper. “You’d better go placate them.”
“Tell them I’m napping.” Yawned the sleepy Evil Ferret Overlord.
“Philippe is baking more pastries as fast as he can, but we need to stall them. On your feet now.” Keeper prodded. It is, of course, nearly as impossible to hoist a ten foot tall, anthropomorphic ferret to its feet, as it is to encourage it to develop a conscience, but Keeper tried anyway. Due to the unfortunate nature of physics, he found it much more useful to use his words.
“Evil Ferret Overlord, what do villagers do when they become angry? They wield things. You know, torches, gardening implements, and the like?”
“So? I wield Moltov cocktails and a leather whip.”
“Yes, but they have sixty or seventy opposable thumbs to get their wielding done, and you’ve got only the two faulty ones.” The Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord thought for a moment. “Tell you what, I’ve got a ferret treat for any fur-bearing mammal who’ll go out and whip up some intimidation.” It sounded like a reasonable bargain to the Evil Ferret Overlord. Frightening villagers, followed by a light snack. She rose to her feet and bounded out the door, fastening her cape about her shoulders. She ducked and weaved through the massive herd of cows, poking a few of them just to make sure that the eerie, vacant expressions they wore weren’t because they were really robots, and Farmer Clancy had been feeding her corn meal in secret all these years. The Evil Ferret Overlord was strictly an urban creature, by habit, and uninitiated in the ways of the docile, intellectually lacking bovine. She quickened her pace to avoid the nearly brainless stares of her future dinners, and strode ever closer to her village minions. The minions’ facial expressions closely mimicked those of the cows, and had the Evil Ferret Overlord been in an observant mood, she might have noticed the remarkable similarities between the two herds, but she was preparing to Smite. She reached the fence and scanned the crowd up and down, looking a few of them in the eye, and cleared her throat. She took a deep breath and let out a “GRRRRRRAWR!” Which shook the ground and very nearly caused a stampede. The only reason a stampede did not occur, was that Farmer Clancy had bred his cows to have even shorter attention spans than those of standard cows. Since the dawn of time, men had bred cows to be large, delicious, and stupid, and Farmer Clancy felt it was his duty to further the advancements of his gender, by making the cows larger, tastier, and all the more stupid. Farmer Clancy was a great success, in that regard, but this is not a story about Farmer Clancy. Rather, it is about the Evil Ferret Overlord (and several of her closest friends), who had just got done letting out a very fearsome roar. The crowd of villagers grew silent, and the Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord turned his head to the side and raised an eyebrow.
“Ferrets don’t roar, EFO.”
“I’m an Overlord, Roy. I come with features.” Replied the keeper. “Now, what’s all the fuss about?”
The kitten-shirted woman from the evening before pushed her way to the front of the crowd. Only this time she had on a different sweatshirt, which depicted a childlike, smiling teddy bear. She peered up at the Evil Ferret Overlord through her thick, round-framed glasses.
“We have the right to our pastimes! However silly they may seem to you, they are important to us, and we demand you allow us to engage in them.”
“You realize this is private property?” Keeper asked.
“Yes, but we’ve only been using this small corner, and not bothering the cows, and Farmer Clancy never said anything about it before, so we thought we must be welcome.”
“That’s because Farmer Clancy doesn’t believe in high tech surveillance, and he can’t see you, with that little grove of trees that grows in front of the window there. He’s also getting on in years, and only just now figured out why his grass is so trampled.”
A swarthy fellow made his way up to join the woman. “What about the cows? They trample more of the grass than we ever have, and yet Farmer Clancy does nothing about them.” (It sounded more articulate than he felt. If there was a time machine handy, he would have to go back and remedy that, for the purposes of consistent characterization.)
“They become our dinners.” Said the Evil Ferret Overlord, “It’s probably punishment enough. Didn’t you people recently build a park nearby?”
“Yes, we did, for the children. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“It has a bit of open space somewhere, doesn’t it?”
“There’s a field. We’ve been cultivating it for a garden.”
“Well, uncultivate it. It would serve your hobby purposes.”
“It’s a sport.”
“Whatever you say.” The Evil Ferret Overlord had to admit that this pointless arguing was an unusually effective stall, and that the villagers were being quite a lot more cooperative about it than usual. She suspected their brains were addled with hunger. It was nice when things worked out so conveniently.
The swarthy man grew whiny. The Evil Ferret Overlord noted the stubble and drool on his chin, and was immediately able to gauge his intellectual capacity. It was comparable to that of the cows. This was confirmed when he opened his mouth again.
“It was gonna be our tradition to play right here! Traditions are important”
“He’s right! Come on, Evil Ferret Overlord, doesn’t that sound at least a little sweet to you? Saturday nights, huddled together in Farmer Clancy’s field to watch our biggest, strongest men at work.”
“I’m a ten foot tall anthropomorphic ferret. I don’t do sweet. Saturday nights circling around the garden to point and laugh as the biggest strongest men make fools of themselves sounds adequate to me. If you absolutely must admire, I really don’t have the energy to argue. I’m a busy Overlord. All I ask is that the cows be protected until it’s time to eat them.” She looked over her shoulder at the cows milling about. “Quit looking at me like that. You know perfectly well I’m going to eat you.” She turned back to the villagers, “We have decreed that it is so, and Farmer Clancy’s grass must grow.” Just as the Evil Ferret Overlord finished speaking her unplanned little rhyme, Chef Philippe came running up, with a huge serving platter of delicious, chocolate filled pastries. He’d had the good sense to avoid the crowd on the other side of the fence, taking his chances by wandering through the quadrupedal crowd with something that smelled so wonderful. The cows were far less interested than the villagers were.

The Second part

Tue, 06 Nov 2007 15:24:28 GMT

Still on crack. That last bit was about a thousand words of exposition. Fear my babbling skills.

The keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord was a creature of habit, and this morning like every other morning, he awoke long before anyone else and slunk downstairs in favor of a cup of Earl Grey tea. He then made his way back upstairs and shed his magician’s sleepwear in favor of a smart, blue and yellow track suit and warm, waterproof boots with extra traction on the soles. He then made his way out the door, down a corridor, back down the stairs, out of the castle, and around the moat, to where his rowboat, the Michael Ball, was tied to the dock. He untied it, and began his morning row around the castle. As he rowed, he liked to sing, frequently a hymn, and occasionally a popular rock and roll tune from decades past. Once, he even made up a tune about the great hardship of working for an Evil Ferret Overlord. As he began his second lap, he thought he heard shouting coming from the forest. He tethered his boat to a post on the opposite shore and slunk through the trees. He climbed up a tall, leafy one, and concealed himself in the branches. What he saw worried him. He made his way back down to solid ground, back to his boat, and across the moat to the castle entrance. Keeper doubted the Evil Ferret Overlord would be awake as yet, so he decided to find out what was for breakfast. Keeper was greeted enthusiastically by Phillipe, the Evil Ferret Overlord’s personal chef.
“Heylo keeper! How is.”
“Hungry. What’s for breakfast?”
“Eggums. Has bacons and fruits if wants. Is melonfruit.”
“Eggs and melon will be fine, thank you. Is the EFO awake?”
“Yes, Roy. I’m afraid so. Your singing woke Alter, and she began to scurry about, and woke me. The Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord turned to see a bleary-eyed anthropomorphic ferret standing behind her, with a rather more ordinary mustelid perched on her head.
“Heylo, Evil Ferret Overlord. I makes bacons to crunch.”
“Hooray!” said the Evil Ferret Overlord.
“Alter wants?” Philippe asked, pointing to the ferret perched on top of the head of the Evil Ferret Overlord. Alter lunged, landing on Philippe’s shoulder. She eagerly took a piece of bacon from Philippe’s hand. Philippe then put a hard boiled egg on the floor for her to play with.
“Oh, Roy?” The Evil Ferret Overlord said, ever-so-sweetly.
“I’m not called Roy.” Keeper grumbled.
“I call you Roy,” said the Evil Ferret Overlord, “and my suit has not been polished since yesterday.”
“This does not bode well for me,” said keeper. “Any chance I might finish my breakfast first?”
“A small chance, at least. Shall we have our breakfast in the sitting room?” Said the Evil Ferret Overlord.
“Very well.” Said Roy. Rosencrantz, the shorter of the Evil Ferret Overlord’s attorneys, had a bedroom between the kitchen and the sitting room. The overlord and her keeper stopped there on their way. The evil ferret Overlord hoisted the still sleeping Rosencrantz out of her bed, and carried her with them into the sitting room. She set her down in front of a velvet cushioned easy chair, then took a seat herself, resting her feet on Rosencrantz’s back.
“Ooof!” came a protest.
“Morning, Rosie.” Said the evil ferret overlord, brightly. “Bacon?” She reached down to offer a piece to her most unwilling footrest.
“Hmmph.” Said Rosencrantz, taking the bacon and beginning to nibble slowly and groggily at it.”
“For heaven’s sake, use a napkin at least.” Protested Keeper. She tossed a cloth napkin over to Rosencrantz, who set her bacon down upon it.
“Sleep well, Rosie?” asked the Evil Ferret Overlord.
“Mmmhmm.” Murmured the still-drowsy attorney.
“My attorney has a way with words, doesn’t she?” The Evil Ferret Overlord said. The group finished their meal in silence, before returning to the Galley to deposit their dishes and retrieve Alter Ego, who had tired of her egg, and had begun batting around a melon baler. The Evil Ferret Overlord scooped her up and returned the melon baller to Philippe. She left him with instructions to send supplies of food to the dungeons, and return Rosencrantz, who had fallen back to sleep on the floor, to her bed. Then, the Evil Ferret Overlord turned to her Keeper. “Now then, about that polishing.”
“Bugger. I was hoping you had forgotten.”
“I never forget about my polish.” The Evil Ferret Overlord grinned.
They returned Alter to her tunnels, via a catch in one section. She scurried through the castle, back to her ferrety suite to begin her morning nap. The two more humanoid figures then began their journey to the chamber where the polish was kept. The castle was outfitted with elevators of the nifty glass variety that allowed the occupants to look at their surroundings as they rose or descended, and had soothing plinkity piano music piped through, but generally speaking, the keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord had a preference for the stairs, which were winding, and featured wrought iron railings. His rationale was that should anyone be watching, it was a far more dramatic sight to see him stomping about on a spiral staircase than riding around in glass boxes. Besides, he liked the way the heels of his boots sounded, pounding against the gray stone.
The evil ferret overlord waited at the top of the stairs for her keeper to open the door, which he did, wondering if he ought to let it close, just before her tail was all the way through, but then he noticed that the evil ferret overlord’s fangs were looking especially sharp and shiny that morning. It was more than a fair bet that she was eager for a chance to use them, and quite frankly, the keeper of the evil ferret overlord was not the least bit eager to add another set of puncture marks to his collection. The evil ferret overlord lowered herself onto a wooden bench, which was located below the shiny window. Another, more ordinary window let the light in, to reflect upon the shiny window and create a kaleidoscopic effect. The Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord made his way tentatively across the stone floor, taking care to avoid the slick spots caused by spills, which occurred when the Evil Ferret Overlord became fidgety. He climbed up the high shelves and retrieved a can of Overlord’s Choice Deluxe Ego Polish: Delighting the EFO for a significant amount of time. He descended the shelving unit, holding the can in his jaws, and returned to where the overlord was seated under the shiny window. The keeper opened the can of polish, and set to work, beginning with the Evil Ferret Overlord’s outstretched feet, the claws of which, the Keeper felt were badly in need of some trimming. But, once again, he noted the gleam in her fangs, and thought better of saying so.
“Ahh, that’s more like it.” Said the Evil Ferret Overlord. “So, how was your morning row?”
“Well…” said keeper hesitantly.
“Out with it, Roy.” Demanded the Evil Ferret Overlord.
“It seems, EFO, that the villagers have invented a new game. They’re very excited about it.
“Oh dear.” The villagers were known to invent terribly foolish pastimes, which always wound up somehow irking the Evil Ferret Overlord.
“Quite. It seems they have taken to forming small bands of eight or ten large men, who run headlong into each other, all over an oblong sort of ball, which one group or the other must get to a line on the ground. They call it a sport, and the villagers seem to have great personal stake in the outcome.”
“As long as it’s porterhouse.” The overlord shrugged.
“No, the other kind of stake.”
“The Dracula kind?” The Evil Ferret Overlord suddenly had an unnerving gleam in her eye. Either that or it was a trick of the multicolored light. It was probably that. One of the green facets was casting a reflection in just about the right spot. “That sounds good to me. If one team loses, the other team can impale them. Literally.” By this time, she was practically bouncing with glee. This was of course, a distressing sight. Generally speaking, ten-foot-tall anthropomorphic ferrets should not bounce. Also, this action threatened to upset the polish.
“Hold still. You’ll upset the polish.” Said Keeper, as if on cue. (Funny, that.) “and no, it’s not the Dracula kind. It’s the investment kind.” The Keeper crossed the room and dragged over a ladder, to better reach the entirety of the Evil Ferret overlord’s suit, which was, of course firmly attached to the Evil Overlord. As far as the occupants of the castle knew, no one had ever seen her without it, and the EFO intended to keep it that way. She was close to her minions and fond of them in a way, but certainly not that close, and definitely not that fond, and absolutely, positively not in that way. Besides, smiting was a far more entertaining pastime than wooing, and more often than not, it yielded more shiny surprises, like a firecracker down an unruly villager’s trousers. Surprise!
“You missed a bit.” Said the Evil Ferret Overlord.
“I did no such thing. Where?”
“Right down there, by my tail.” The Overlord pointed to a spot near her posterior. She wasn’t one for romance, but she was also not above making her minions feel uncomfortable. Fortunately for The Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord, but slightly disappointingly for the Evil Ferret Overlord herself, there was a knock, three times on the door (not the ceiling. Only the overlord could reach that high, and she found that doing so was one of those unnecessary effort things.)
“Enter. For the love of shiny objects, enter right now!” pleaded the Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord. The person who had been heretofore on the other side of the heavy wooden door pushed it open and stepped through the doorway, so that the person in question was now on the other side of the door.
The person in the aforementioned question turned out to be none other than the Evil Ferret Overlord’s taller and more masculine attorney cum household accessory, Guildenstern.
“Morning, Gil!” the Evil Ferret Overlord greeted, “Keeper tells me the villagers have invented a new game. Best of all, the winning team gets to stab the losers with wooden stakes!” The poor attorney looked suddenly pale and alarmed.
“I said no such thing.” The Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord sighed. “I told you, it’s emotional stakes, not wooden.”
The overlord’s face looked crestfallen, as only the face of a disappointed ferret can. “You mean, there is no stabbing involved?”
“None that I saw.”
“What sort of pastime is that? That barely qualifies as a hobby, let alone a sport. Where’s the bloodshed and mayhem?”
“It’s the sort of hobby a villager would find enjoyable, I suppose, EFO.” The keeper guessed.
“Speaking of the villagers” said the attorney Guildenstern, jumping at the only chance he might get to speak, “you did get the message about the exciting breakthrough one of their scientific types has made?”
“Messages? I’m a ten foot tall anthropomorphic ferret, not a secretary. Messages are for other people to get and read to me. Right Roy?”
“Do I look like a secretary to you?”
“Hmm…no.” Before the Keeper or Guildenstern could protest, the Evil Ferret Overlord had snatched Guildenstern’s glasses, pen and legal pad and adorned the Keeper with them. “That’s better. Now you look like a proper secretary.” Said the Evil Ferret Overlord. Keeper and Guildenstern were not remotely amused.
“They’ve created some sort of spirit contacting device.” Guildenstern said.
“Hm. Weird. I’ll investigate that and the pastime thing after naptime.” After naptime was when just about everything got done around the castle. Naptime started immediately after polishing time and lasted anywhere from half an hour to well into the evening, depending on the arbitrary whims of the Evil Ferret Overlord. On this particular day, naptime fell somewhere in between the two, allowing just enough time for the Evil Ferret Overlord to have a most unusual dream. Many people were previously unaware that physical manifestations of abstract psychological concepts could sleep, let alone have dreams, but the Evil Ferret Overlord did on a very regular basis. Durring this particular dream, the overlord and her various relatives (who had been conveniently conjured up by the Evil Ferret Overlord’s subconscious) were visited by a long-dead rich uncle. That is, the overlord liked to tell people he was a rich uncle. He actually had very little income to his name, save for a prodigious collection of beer cans, all of which the overlord had inherited at the time of his death, on account of her deep and abiding enthusiasm for all things shiny. The uncle also had his own vehicle, a shiny white pickup truck. In the dream, the truck had mysteriously rematerialized in a shopping mall parking lot, and the man himself, beer gut and all, had rematerialized shortly thereafter, thoroughly confusing everyone involved.
“Weren’t you dead?” the Evil Ferret Overlord asked.
“Umm…not quite.” The formerly dead uncle explained. “I actually faked my own death to help you guys out.”
“How was your dying helpful exactly?” One of the teenaged relatives asked.
The previously deceased, theoretically wealthy uncle smiled. “Remember how a bunch of you had really lousy grades that year?” The ones to whom the memory was applicable nodded, including the Evil Ferret Overlord, who had really only been interested in the parts of the school day which involved marveling at her own accomplishments. “Didn’t you notice how they suddenly improved right after I died?” the uncle continued.
“So you actually blackmailed our teachers?”
“Pretty much.” Everyone laughed in the general fashion of a cheesy television ending. Of course, the explanation made no sense whatsoever, but logic was only just barely a factor of the goings-on in the Evil Ferret Overlord’s waking world, let alone the world of her dreams. The Evil Ferret Overlord awoke, feeling rejuvenated and rather cheerful, all things considered. Still, she made a special little trip to visit her beer can collection, just to be sure. It was intact, and shiny as ever, to her relief.
The Evil Ferret Overlord retrieved her royal keeper from the study and made the announcement that it was time to begin the trek to the woodland village. While the Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord went to change into suitable marauding attire, the Evil Ferret Overlord made a side trip to the Alter Suite to check whether Alter was napping, eating, or otherwise indisposed. When the Evil Ferret Overlord found that her small, fuzzy counterpart was none of the above, she picked her up and placed her between her own ferrety ears. Alter loved marauding trips.
It should be mentioned that the Evil Ferret Overlord had managed to get through at least two doors without the aid of her Royal Keeper. This was because of a key castle feature, only recently installed. Several of the key doors had been made automatic and overlord accessible. To work them, the Evil Ferret Overlord had only to press a small button similar to the ones found on automatic wheelchair-access doors. The major difference was that instead of the ubiquitous symbol of the androgynous figure in the wheelchair, these buttons featured miniatures of the Evil Ferret Overlord’s portrait.
Keeper, Overlord, and Overlordly (a perfectly legitimable word in the realm of the Evil Ferret Overlord) Alter Ego reunited in front of the drawbridge of the castle. The Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord had changed into a tunic, slacks, a black, swishy cape, and a fresh top hat. He also carried a dapper black cane, which doubled as a scabbard. The Overlord had opted for her standard suit, riding boots, a leather whip, and a shiny silver satchel in which alter could ride. The Evil Ferret Overlord examined the chariot the keeper had brought out for their journey.
“You do realized that we are living in a post-industrial society?” she asked
“Of course, EFO.”
“And we have cars and a public system and helicopters at our disposal?”
“Well yes, that is certainly true.”
“So, why the chariot.”
“Dramatic flair!” said the keeper, triumphantly. He had a point there. The chariot was a shinier, more dramatic sight than any helicopter. From the brass-plated wheels to the harnesses on the Clydesdales, to the bright gold-leaf flames emblazoned on the side, it was just the sort of thing in which an Evil Ferret Overlord, and her keeper, and her Royal Keeper, and sable coated quadruped alter ego would look stately and fearsome while riding.
“Giddyup!” Cried the Evil Ferret Overlord, cracking her whip with unbridled ferrety glee. As misfortune would have it, the Clydesdales were of the expertly trained variety (actually, the EFO had bought them from the local equivalent of Anheuser-Bush, as an homage to her dead uncle.), and they began to trot off across the drawbridge. The Evil Ferret Overlord had to run, pulling her keeper behind her. She took a flying leap, and the entire party landed with a thud in the seat.

New nanoing effort.

Tue, 06 Nov 2007 15:21:34 GMT

Disclaimer: I am on crack. And by crack, I mean I haven't edited this thing at all.

The Evil Ferret Overlord And Friends vs. The Astral Plane
A certain number of astrophysicists; not all of them, mind, but a certain indeterminate number of them; theorize that there are an infinite number of parallel universes, which may be in some ways similar to the universe which we inhabit and are aware of. If this is the case, it is not entirely unreasonable to make the assumption that at least a few of these parallel universes are in some way dissimilar to the one which we inhabit and are aware of. If that is the case, which it had jolly well better be, then the following story is perfectly plausible.
In this particular case, the egos of the inhabitants of this particular alternate universe had a physical manifestation. The Egos generally functioned independently of the ordinary bodies. They even had their own governmental system, headed by the biggest ego of them all: A ten foot tall, leather clad, anthropomorphic ferret, known to the populace as Evil Ferret Overlord, or EFO for short, although she referred to herself as Ego. She had the body of a very tall human, ten feet tall to be exact, (because such a height is worth mentioning early and often.) and the tail, face, and accompanying fangs of a ferret. Occasionally, someone would question the wisdom of allowing such a creature to rule them, but then someone else would eventually point out that a ten foot tall, leather clad, anthropomorphic ferret could pretty much do what she wanted. (The Evil Ferret Overlord was indeed female, as that was also the gender of her ordinary self.) If anyone were to ask exactly how the overlord had come into power, her reply was always the same. She would blink twice and say simply: “I asked nicely”.
In truth, the evil ferret overlord had two additional assets, which helped her secure her position of power. First and foremost, the Evil Ferret Overlord had a remarkable ability to make even the most ludicrous of concepts to sound perfectly ordinary and reasonable. In fact, early on in the reign of the Evil Ferret Overlord, plain white socks had gone quite out of fashion, because, as the overlord put it:
“Feet fall into and out of shoes of all shapes and sizes from practically the moment they are born, with no regard for the feelings of the shoes they wantonly dirtied and subsequently discarded, destroying their usefulness, and reputation. If you ask me, feet have no business wearing white. Besides, with a darker sock it’s harder to see the dirt, so it takes longer to be forced to admit that the sock might be in need of a wash. Saves an awful lot of unnecessary effort.” Sparing herself unnecessary effort was one of the evil ferret overlord’s favorite pastimes.
Her second asset was her Alter Ego. Many scientists (including the ones that hypothesize at great length about multiple parallel universes) are of the belief that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. So many of them are so certain of this fact that they have signed it into law. They call it somebody’s somethingth law of something. In this parallel universe, it is also true that for every Ego, there exists an Alter Ego. This was particularly true for the Evil Ferret Overlord, whose Alter ego also had a physical manifestation. (say that three times fast.) Her alter ego, whom she very cleverly named Alter was a fairly ordinary, non-anthropomorphic, sable coated ferret, who enjoyed shiny things, snuggly toys, treats, and naptime. Especially the latter. As the alter ego of such a large and powerful entity, Alter enjoyed the run of her very own suite, custom-built to suit the frolicking needs of a loveable mustelid. The halls featured plastic ferret-sized tunnels through which alter could scurry. She slept in a custom built ferret bed, which was brown, just like her, with her favorite shiny, pink blanket and teddy bear snuggly toy. There were even guest hammocks in case any other ferrety alter egos came for a visit, which they often did. There was also a small galley, which stocked a most impressive array of the finest ferrety delicacies, and plenty extra space to hide them. The rest of the Evil Ferret Overlord’s castle was equally impressive. It stood as tall as a New York City skyscraper, but had only half the requisite number of floors, which were twice as tall, to accommodate the Evil Ferret Overlord’s spectacular height. It featured the usual castley features like majestic turrets with round stained-glass windows, depicting the evil ferret overlord’s favorite things. The largest one featured a likeness of the Evil Ferret Overlord herself. Another one resembled a large porterhouse stake, the evil ferret overlord’s favorite meal. There was even one that looked like nothing at all. In fact, it was not even meant to be looked out of. That one was shiny.
Surrounding the castle was a moat, which was mostly there for show. It was fifteen feet wide, and measured fifteen feet deep at the deep end, and two feet at the shallow end. The Evil Ferret Overlord did not originally intend to build a shallow end, but then she realized that she could keep Alter entertained for hours, by stocking the pool with minnows and letting her dive for them at the shallow end. There were plenty of sunny patches, where Alter could nap, after a particularly strenuous day of fishing.
The interior of the castle was also quite spectacular. The walls and floors were painted to look like lots and lots of solid marble. There were all kinds of festive rugs lining the halls, to keep feet nice and warm. Portraits of the evil ferret overlord, and all her favorite minions hung on the walls. The Evil Ferret Overlord’s bedroom suite was truly a sight to behold. Her floor was fully carpeted with a red, plush material, and her windows had matching drapes, with shiny silver sashes. Her bed was not so much what one would think of as a typical bed, but more an array of oversized, mismatched pillows and blankets, arranged in the general shape of a pitcher’s mound. She liked to have the option of burrowing deeply to hide from wrathful minions, or the occasional cold draught, which blew through the castle in the wintertime. She kept an overlord sized snuggly toy in the shape of a bunny rabbit, on a wooden nightstand next to her burrow.
The thing the Evil Ferret Overlord was the most proud of, though, was her dungeon. It was dark, and dampish, and generally smelled like the prop room of a community theatre. To keep electricity bills low, the dungeon was lit entirely by torches, mounted on the wall. The dungeon was where the Evil Ferret Overlord kept the minions that were highly skilled at keeping her entertained. In fact, they had formed their own little artistic village down there, which functioned more or less autonomously, with the occasional prodding from the overlord and her closest minions.
Her closest minions also inhabited the castle, and were given free room and board, and small cash stipends in exchange for certain favors. Most prominent was the Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord, who the Evil Ferret Overlord liked to irk, by calling “Roy”, Keeper, in turn, irked the Evil Ferret Overlord, by using her abbreviated title of EFO. Keeper was shortish, and had wide eyes that reminded the Evil Ferret Overlord of a comic book character. Keeper’s most important function was to keep the Evil Ferret Overlord polished. The Evil Ferret Overlord was an ego, after all, and a very important one at that. As such, she required quite a lot of polishing. The reason the keeper was called the Keeper, was that he also fetched things for Alter, such as snuggly toys and treats, and occasionally stroked her fur. Also, and the Evil Ferret Overlord hated to admit this, Keeper was highly useful because the Overlord never could quite get the hang of opposable thumbs. She had them, but the ferrety part of her mind prevented her from using them as nimbly as she might, so Keeper was generally in charge of writing things down, and opening jars and doors. Keeper had a keen fashion sense as well. He was renowned throughout the kingdom for his collection of smart, perfectly shaped top hats and capes of every color, stripe, and tartan that swished dramatically when he walked. He wore black, fingerless gloves, which showed off his neatly trimmed fingernails, and one of many pairs of shiny leather boots. In the evening, before retiring to bed, he would shed this dramatic attire in favor of a blue magician’s robe and pointy hat, as well as a set of earplugs, as the Evil Ferret Overlord had a tendency to snore.
To keep the Evil Ferret Overlord out of the trouble, which she had an enormous penchant for finding around every corner, Keeper had hired a pair of attorneys, by the name of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. It was their duty to step in, when the overlord failed to drum up an excuse that would satisfy the masses, and to ensure that the colony of entertainers in the dungeon was well fed. In their spare time, they served as various pieces of furniture.
The Evil Ferret Overlord also had in her employ, two weapons-forgers named Livilla and Twila. They pretty much looked like every other maiden in every other fantasy novel. They were eerily pale, and their hair was shiny, and ridiculously long (Twila’s hair was red, and Livilla’s was black), as were their robes, their eyes were suitably exotic-looking, and they walked around barefoot and sang as they worked. They did have an advantage over the stereotypical medieval maidens, and that was technology. Many of the weapons they forged for the Evil Ferret Overlord were designed to cause spectacular explosions, and work by remote-control. They did forge the occasional sword, or bow and arrow for dramatic effect, but explosions were what they liked best. The Evil Ferret Overlord and Alter liked explosions too, because explosions were shiny. The other thing Livilla and Twila did better than anyone else in the whole of the kingdom, was enabling the Evil Ferret Overlord. True, the keeper was the one doing the opening of the doors, but Livilla and Twila were usually at least partially responsible for the Evil Ferret Overlord’s most cunning plots. From time to time, Keeper would start a debate with one or the other of them, over who truly was the biggest enabler. The issue was customarily settled over a game of chess, played on a custom-built chess set with the Evil Ferret Overlord’s face on the queens, and lots of little Alter pawns.
Keeping this assorted crew fed was the Evil Ferret Overlord’s personal chef. The chef could work magic with a slab of meat and a spice rack. The chef wore a pair of ferret ears, crafted from paper and dyed cotton balls, as an homage to her patron, and spoke with a syntax and vocabulary that was all her own. It was the skills of the chef which very nearly caused the downfall of the reign of the evil ferret overlord.

New chapter.

Sat, 18 Nov 2006 05:59:07 GMT

Chrysanthos slammed the door and raided through everything that he and his family had accumulated on their long and arduous journey from their home village to this strange frozen wasteland, inhabited by strange, frozen creatures. Sure enough, he found what he had been looking for, a few bags of dirt and rubble, which, at his brother in law’s suggestion, he had traded with a traveler headed in the opposite direction. At the time it had seemed like an excellent decision to rid themselves of an extra canoe, when they would now be traveling over dry land and ice. He made his way back down the stairs, more carefully this time, as he was weighed down by the extra burden of the heavy bags. When he was back in the barroom, he sanded down the last of the wood, until they were nothing but a pile of shavings on the floor. These, he mixed in with a bag of the rubble. He scooped up some of the melted ice with a ladle, and stirred it in, until he had created a sort of cement. He borrowed a wooden spoon from the kitchen maids, which he found doubled as a very useful trowel. Within the course of a single hour, the floor was covered with the cement. Thanks to the cool and arid climate in the room, it was not long before the cement was dry enough to walk on. Chrysanthos smiled, feeling confident that his new dirt floor would hold up to the abuses of the tavern patrons far better than the previous wooden floor. Unfortunately the man had not possessed the foresight to remove the tables before cementing, and they were now quite firmly and permanently attached to the floor of the tavern. For several agonizing minutes, he awaited the return of Elvis the elf. Finally, mercifully, the little man made his return to the tavern. He slowly inspected Chrysanthos’ handiwork, wandering this way and that, muttering to himself. Chrysanthos strained to be able to pick up a few smatterings of what the man was saying. At long last, Elvis turned to him, one eyebrow delicately, but distressingly arched.
“Did you know,” Elvis asked, “that the tables are now permanently attached to the floor?”
Chrysanthos found himself fidgeting, in spite of his best efforts to remain calm and collected. “Why, yes, I mean, no, that did not escape my notice.”
“Could you tell me, good sir Chrysanthos, was this done on purpose?” For a moment, he considered making up a plausible excuse involving the unusually poor judgment of his brother in law. After all, such an oversight would be more characteristic of him, than of poor Chrysanthos, who could now feel beads of perspiration forming on his forehead, and at the back of his neck. Somehow, he could not collect the mental fortitude necessary to create a suitably plausible excuse for his oversight.
“No, sir, I am ashamed to say that it was not.”
Elvis wandered over to the bar table, and picked up a long, dangerous-looking knife. For a moment, Chrysanthos wished that he had his old sharp fingernails back. The smaller man grinned. It was the first time Chrysanthos had gotten a good look at the inside of his mouth. His teeth were in a rather sorry state. They were yellow and very badly chipped. A few were missing, and the majority of the ones that weren’t were crooked. With his teeth in such an abysmally sorry state, Chrysanthos found it entirely impossible to determine whether the smaller man was grinning with malice or with good humor. Just to err on the side of caution, he took a step closer to the door.
“Well, then your oversight was lucky.” Elvis finally spoke. “I suppose nobody will be able to knock these tables over in a brawl again. Fine work, friend. Now, if you could possibly give me just a moment. I must cut up these nice fish for tonight’s meal.” Chrysanthos breathed a heavy, audible sigh of incredible relief. “What, did you think I was going to stab you with this knife? You are a guest of my tavern. Stabbing you would be impolite, would it not?” He giggled, a sharp, shrill sound which sent incredible tremors up Chrysanthos’ spine. They were so incredible, in fact, that a lesser author might go on for another several unnecessary words detailing exactly how incredible the little elf’s giggles were. Such an author would ramble on with the purplest of prose, and heaps upon heaps of extraneous adjectives, which serve only to lengthen the sentence, and to make the reader wish to throw large, heavy dictionaries at her head. However, as we are in the midst of a tale being told by a most fine and competent author, who is not at all prone to writing an excessive number of words, for the sole purpose of approaching a relatively arbitrary goal set forth by a popular novel writing website, we shall now return to the fine and glorious words which were next to come out of Elvis the bartending elf’s terrifyingly ill-kept mouth: “Besides, you are nearly twice my height, and you are traveling with undead companions. It would be most foolish of me to incur their wrath.”
Chrysanthos returned the little man’s smile, awkwardly, considering the distinct and highly likely probability that Elvis the bartending elf had very much, and very skillfully gained the upper hand in what he hoped would prove to be an entertaining and lasting friendship.
As for Elvis, he found that Chrysanthos’ craftwork skills were of immeasurable benefit to his small, remote, chilly community. He was delighted to discover the next morning, that the large timber-box which the larger man had constructed for him, was incredibly useful in bringing trees in from the woods. In fact, his axemen had found that it would easily hold the weight of two of their party. They took turns resting in the wagon of the box, while their companions pulled them along. By the time they reached their destination, everyone was well rested, and could travel farther, to clear trees from a deeper forest. They were very happy about this, as they had previously waited for one week a year, when they could go to the smaller patch of trees to clear out the ones that stood a chance of providing enough useful wood to put a few patches in a building or two.
Unbeknownst to the axemen, they had been followed. Chrysanthos’ wife’s parents’ other, masculine, slightly mentally deficient child, who has yet to be named, (and will not be named until I hit my fifty thousand word quota for national novel writing month, thank you very much. It has been decided, and so it shall be done.) had tagged along, riding in the timber-box the entire way, and on top of the lumber the entire way back. As he was insubstantial, the axemen were none the wiser. The spirit sheltered himself from the cold by pilfering one of the heftier men’s jackets and laying it on the bottom of the box, and curled up under it. While the axemen were busy with the trees, The wayward spirit wandered off in search of something less strenuous to do. He had found a clearing, and happened across a most strange creature. It was small and slightly round. It had a beak and wings, so the spirit decided that it must be a bird of some sort. It had a black back and a round little white belly and a little yellow collar around its neck. It stared at the spirit, with small, beady, black eyes. Wherever the spirit moved, the little creature followed his movements with its head.
“You can see me?” The spirit gasped. The animal blinked and looked around. “Are you all by yourself? Poor little guy?” He took a few cautious steps closer to the strange creature, and held out a hand to pet it. Suddenly, five more creatures, just like the first one, popped out from wherever they had been hiding, then ten, then thirty, and before long he was surrounded by these strange creatures. Of course, these creatures are now not so strange at all, and we call them “penguins” but the other child of Chrysanthos’ wife’s parents was a simple man, from much further south, and had never seen a penguin before in his life, so he decided to call them chubbybirds. “Hello Chubbybirds.” He whispered. “You’re awfully strange. Why are you all staring at me like that”
Now, two things were unusual about this scenario. First of all, there were penguins in the woods, a fair distance from anything resembling fish. This particular strain of penguin was not possessed of a particularly noteworthy attention span, and they had the habit of wandering about the area, in order to find more hills down which they could slide on their bellies. The second strange thing about the encounter was the fact that it was not customary for people of long ago to speak to the animals they encountered. However, the spirit was unlike most other people, and as he was already dead, he had not much to lose by attempting to strike up a conversation with the beasts. Of course, he had not much to gain, either, but the poor spirit was in a strange and unfamiliar land with only the companionship of a very few of his family members. He felt that there was the odd chance that these were just very small, very misfortunate people, just like the elves, only with slightly better outfits, and less hair. He was, of course, entirely mistaken, but he did not know that. Before the spirit was fully aware of what was happening, the birds had crowded around him, pushing the smaller ones back towards the center of the group. The spirit noted that the smaller ones were all fluffy and gray, and not as sleek and not as brightly hued as the larger ones. The spirit took a step backwards, and the penguins did too. The spirit took off at a quick walk, and all the penguins followed him, honking and squawking. Every time the spirit tried to walk faster, the birds kept pace. Finally he tried to communicate with them in their own strange language.
“Hello, chubby birds. What are you? I am a spirit, and I am most excited that you can see me. I come in peace.” At least that’s what he was trying to say. As the poor spirit was entirely unfamiliar with the nuances of penguin linguistics, the penguins understood him to mean “Hello. I am large. So, I will be your leader now. Fish are this way.” Needless to say, the penguins became very excited, and immediately followed the hapless spirit in a flurry of excitement. The group, led by the spirit, made their way back to the camp of the axemen. The axemen, who shall henceforth be known as “the Elves who wield axes as large as or larger than they themselves were”, as that phrase contains several more words than simply “axemen” and excessive verbosity is one of the more noble goals of novel writing (just ask J.R.R. Tolkien) anyway, we digress.
At this point, let us now return to the issue at hand. The elves who wield axes as large as or larger than they themselves were, were enjoying their fishy luncheon, and before they knew what was happening, a herd of Emperor penguins (for indeed, as penguins are earthbound birds and as such are more properly called a herd, as opposed to a flock, but again we digress, and all for the sole, albeit incredibly noble and noteworthy literary pastime of excessive verbosity.) had descended upon their campsite, led by the poor hapless spirit, which had in life been known in his home village as the brother in law of the renowned Chrysanthos Claws: Carpenter, Manufacturer of Toys, and Briber Extraordinaire, but who was now simply known as Santhos’ brother in law. While people of a more standard height might have been able to fend off the Emperor penguin herd, (again, that is herd, not flock) but these were Elves. Contrary to the writings of the great master of excessive and wholly unnecessary wordiness, J.R.R Tolkien, the Elves lived at or very near the north pole (that is, geographic north, and not magnetic north) and not Middle Earth; and they were rather diminutive individuals, averaging about four feet and six inches tall, or One point three seven meters, for those living in the regions of the world which employ the metric system. The Emperor penguins were just slightly smaller in stature, and considerably heftier, thanks to their fantastic ability to store food in their rotund little avian bellies. As such, they were more-or-less evenly matched in strength. The penguins had the advantage of numbers. Theirs were almost three times as great as the ranks of the Elves. After much squabbling and shouting, and running about, the poor Elves who wielded axes as large or larger than they themselves were, were forced to surrender the majority of their fish lunches. Their axes were of no use to them, as the penguins, while hefty, were fairly agile, and when threatened with the heavy weapons, would employ their remarkable powers of stomach tobogganing. In the absence of braking mechanisms, their tobogganing powers had the additional advantage of turning their own bodies into projectile weapons, knocking a few members of the Elf party out of commission.
The Elves who wielded axes as large as or larger than they themselves were had hoped that after their avian foe would be placated by their full bellies, but as Santhos’ brother in law was still present, and as far as they were concerned, still in charge, the penguins stayed. To the relief of the Elves who wielded axes as large as or larger than they themselves were, they attempted no further attacks. They were entirely unaware of the presence of the unseen spirit, as their village leader Elvis had neglected to inform them that there were spirits who had accompanied Carol and Chrysanthos from so far away. The wood gathering, axe wielding party of elves, were greatly confused by the behavior of the penguins, but as they were being more or less agreeable for the time being, the Elves who wielded axes as large as or larger than they themselves were, were content to let the beasts sit at their campsite, pecking at one another’s feathers. The penguins were rather baffled by the spirit, who did not seem to have much in the way of fishy bits or any other tasty morsels on his feathers. Indeed, he was quite featherless, and the penguins found that when they made the effort to groom their new leader, they were unable to grasp more than a wisp of radiant energy, which, while a curious sensation, did not provide much in the way of sustenance. The brother in law of Chrysanthos, however, through a considerable amount of concentration, which was quite the feat for him, was able to knock a few parasites loose from the feathers of the Emperor penguin herd.
Eventually, the Elves who wielded axes as large as or larger than they themselves were decided that it would be in their best interests to return homeward. Imagine their considerable astonishment, when they found that the rotund little creatures followed them all the way back to the village. The axe wielding Elves were greeted at the door of the tavern by Elvis and Chrysanthos. Upon seeing the herd of penguins following on their heels, Chrysanthos immediately pulled his brother out of the hoard, and gave him a death glare. He was about to give him a sound thrashing, when the penguins surrounded him, squawking in protest at this grievous abuse of their leader.
“I would not do that, if I were you, dear brother in law.” The spirit warned. “I am their leader now, and they seem to be unusually protective of me.” Chrysanthos was intimidated enough to release his grasp on his brother in law.
“Are you indeed” he whispered, so as not to cause the Elves who wielded axes as large as or greater than they themselves were any undue distress or confusion. “Well, then, my dear brother in law, I would recommend that you lead them straight out of this village. Are we quite clear?”
“Yes, brother in law. We are clearer than your finest crystal. Or at least I am. These animals are solid, and fluffy, and terribly warm…”
“Out!” Chrysanthos hissed. As his dejected brother in law meandered away from the tavern, he sighed and shook his head. “So tell me, my friends. How fared you with the new timber transportation box?”
“Better than we had hoped.” One of the larger Elves of the party of Elves who wielded axes as large or larger than they themselves were reported. “Indeed, we were quite able to carry all of the wood with remarkable ease. Sadly, we had to share our lunch with that most puzzling herd of rotund little bird creatures, and we are quite starving.” The other Elves who wielded axes as large as or larger than they themselves were nodded their heads in general agreement.
“Elvis, my good man! What have your women prepared for us to eat this fine afternoon?”
Elvis smiled at the party “Why, what else but the finest fish for our brave wood gathering party?” Elvis ushered the group into the tavern, and while they waited, they satiated their appetites with generous quantities of ale. Chrysanthos took it upon himself to entertain the men, by making some sort of attempt to play upon one of their fiddles. He managed to pluck out a screeching wavering tune, which sounded something like the music he had heard them play the night before, but which hadn’t nearly the vigor or tonal clarity, as Chrysanthos had never attempted to play an actual song on an Elf instrument before. Nonetheless, the Elves who wielded axes as large as or larger than they themselves were, were greatly amused and before long, the fish was brought out, and they all enjoyed a hearty meal, before returning home with packages of leftovers for their wives and the little ones, who were less inclined to visit the tavern when the weather was so forbidding.
With the weather being what it was, Chrysanthos became worried about his erstwhile, ghostly brother in law, and went out in search of the wayward spirit.

Chapter Eleven

Thu, 16 Nov 2006 05:18:05 GMT

The next morning, Chrysanthos woke up early, and made his way down to the main part of the tavern. Elvis was already awake and busy scrubbing the wobbly, wooden tables, which seemed to have been used rather roughly the last night. Bits were scorched black from the flint, and they were stained with ale and spit and vomit. The narrow benches were beginning to rot and warp from all the patrons tracking snow and ice in with them. Chrysanthos cleared his throat in order that he might effectively announce his presence.
“No time to waste” Elvis said, looking up from his work.
“From the looks of it, sir, that is quite the understatement.” He replied. “Have you no way to get new lumber here?”
“There is a small forest on the other side of the mountain, two days journey from here, but dragging it so far wears the wood down to a fraction of what we cut.”
Chrysanthos thought about this a moment. Immediately he thought of the timber-box he had made for Carol when they first met, but that had long since been worn well past its usefulness. Then he remembered what had inspired the box in the first place.
“Can you spare one of those tables? Perhaps one of the warped ones? And perhaps two long metal rods?”
“What do you plan to do with them?”
“Well, with any luck, give you a way to carry more of the wood.”
The elf’s big blue eyes twinkled with amazement and delight. “We have some broadswords hidden out in that ice shed, right out back. We have not had a use for those in years. Take whatever you need.”
“Thank you, Elvis. My skill with metal does not nearly match my skill with wood, but I assure you, you won’t regret it.”
Chrysanthos quickly made his way back up the stairs to retrieve his warm red coat. To his considerable dismay, he found the three spirits huddled under it, sound asleep. He prodded with his foot at the brother whose boisterous snore must have been the reason for Elvis’ early waking.
“Wake up. I need my coat.”
“Santhos, we are cold” protested the brother. “Could we not sleep just a little while longer?”
Chrysanthos gave a mighty sigh. “Even a spirit such as yourself must be able to find something useful to do around here. I have to fetch some iron from a shed in the yard. Get your own coat and help me.”
“The others do not have to wake up.” The spirit whined.
“They will soon, if you keep up your protests. In any case they will not need to be prodded and begged. Now, let us get to work.” He pulled his brother in law to his feet, and the two of them bundled up to face the early morning snow. They trudged through the snow and peered ‘round the doorway to make sure nobody else was spying on them. Elvis had known there were spirits with him, but he had no idea how the others would react to seeing a snowsuit and a pair of disembodied boots floating through the air. When the proverbial coast (not the literal coast. They appeared to be quite landlocked, or rather, icelocked) was proverbially clear, the two men darted out across the vast expanse of ice until they reached the shed. The shed was built out of ice and snow, and as such, seemed a bit more sturdy than the poor jobs of wood and mortar. The door was little more than a block of roughly-carved ice, shoved up against the entryway. The men tried to move it aside, and found that it was all but impossible to even nudge it a hairs-breadth to one side. Chrysanthos nodded to his brother in law (who also needs a name. God I hate pronouns. Not as much as I hate whiny attention whoring teenage boys, but let us get back to my national novel writing month novel and quit the gratuitous word whoring, shall we? Mmmyes. We shall. Stop it. Now. Bad author. Oh, fuck it. Twelve thousand, here I come.) As the brother in law was not the brightest of creatures, human, dust bunny, or otherwise, he just smiled and blinked cheerfully at Chrysanthos. Chrysanthos had to physically restrain himself from smacking the spirit. He chewed on his knuckles for a bit. Finally, he took a deep breath and began to verbalize his intentions
“Dear, foolish boy. Remember that you are insubstantial and can pass through the tiniest fissure. You see that little sliver on the one side?” He gave the spirit a powerful shove. “—in you go.” He could hear the whimpering protests from the other side.
“Santhos, that was mean! What if my clothes hadn’t gone through?”
“They did go through. Now, push from that side, while I push from this.” He called.
“Oh, all right. On three then”
“Yes. And that is on three, not after three.” Chrysanthos knew one could not be too clear when dealing with his poor brother in law. “One…Two…Three” As brother in law pushed it from the center, he pushed it from one side. Suddenly, the ice began to groan. The next thing Chrysanthos knew, he was flat on his back, pinned down by the weight of a fragment of the ice block. When he opened his eyes, his brother in law was standing above him, grinning sheepishly. He narrowed his eyes. “Have I mentioned, brother in law, how much I hate you.” He shoved the ice chunk off of his chest, and stood up. His brother in law cowered behind one of the larger fragments.
“I am sorry Santhos, I thought we were pushing it out.”
Chrysanthos sighed “Next time you try thinking, make sure you are far away from others. For a man without a body, you certainly are a destructive force. Now help me with those swords, and please try not to cut yourself.”
“How can I cut myself, Santhos? I have not a body to cut. No blood, no flesh…just…this strange filmy…not flesh.”
“I have no doubt that somehow, you would find a way. On second thought, go fetch those two poles over in the corner; the long ones. Those will be easier to shape and mold to suit my purposes.”
“What are the purposes?”
“I am making a timber sled for our new friends. Now hurry. I would rather this not take all day.” They dragged the poles outside, and then did their best to fix the ice door. They stacked the biggest chunks on top of each other, and filled the gaps with more snow, and hoped that it would stick well enough to keep the whole contraption together. As soon as they felt safe that nobody was watching, they trekked back through the snow with the two poles, and back into the tavern. They laid the poles down in the kitchen and then went into the main room to get something warm to eat before setting to the real work. By midafternoon, Chrysanthos had constructed something resembling an adequate sled. The runners were not perfect, but when tested, they did not bump or jostle too greatly. Elvis was satisfied and made plans to put the contraption to the test the next morning. Meanwhile Chrysanthos and his dear brother in law, as he is presently called (until he gets a proper name. Something like Steve, perhaps. Or Gil.) joined the rest of their family for an early luncheon. Elviira, who as it turned out, was Elvis’ daughter, prepared pastrami sandwiches and a soup with potatoes and carrots.
“Pastrami!” Chrysanthos marveled (he was doing an awful lot of marveling in his new surroundings. Fortunately he would soon grow accustomed to it, and other adjectives would take its place to register his degree of impressedness. It is too a word. Shut up.)
The potatoes were also grown in an arboretum similar to the one in which they grew the moss. Chrysanthos was curious about how they managed to grow any vegetation at all in such a cold, inhospitable climate. He made a special trip around to the buildings in which they housed the plants to see. They were strangely constructed, and as lopsided as they could be without falling over. He discovered that a good deal of the solution was flint and various oils. In a few corners, they had fires of peat, and what seemed to be wood that had grown too rotten for whatever its original purpose might have been. The holes in their roof did serve some purpose, in that they allowed smoke to escape, so as not to suffocate the plants. Another elf poked his head out from behind a torch stand
“Come to visit our humble plant cultivation system, have you sir?” The rotund little man scurried around to formally greet Chrysanthos. “I am Elvstead, and I am the head keeper of the gardens here. Quite the beautiful piece of artistry, is it not?”
“I must say, sir, I do find myself amazed. I had not even seen grass in days before we arrived in your village, and here I find you growing carrots and potatoes?”
“I will let you in on a bit of a secret. This frozen oasis contains underneath it, a rich deposit of some of the most incredible oil. It keeps our lamps burning weeks longer than ordinary fat. It is nothing short of a miracle that God put it right here under all this ice and snow, and in the middle of all of this great nothingness.”
“Indeed it is, and may I say you have quite the gift of speech.”
“I am most flattered to hear you say so, good sir. After all, I also serve function as the historian of our town. I want to make sure I leave an aesthetically pleasing, as well as accurate recounting of the past of our small community.”
“That is most noble of you, sir.” Chrysanthos nodded to the man and returned to the tavern, where he immediately set to work on the poor, lopsided tables. He sawed and sanded, lacquered and nailed, until all of the tavern tables were of a more or less even height, and level enough that the drunkards would not simply slide right off. When he ran short of wood, he pried up the wooden floorboards revealing the cold ice underneath.. When Elvis saw this, he turned positively pink with fury. Chrysanthos decided that it would be best not to mention how strange the tone of his skin now looked against his bright green jumpsuit.
“I demand that you fix this at once! Do not think that I will not put you out, if this is not fixed by nightfall!” He punctuated his speech with wild, flailing gestures, which Chrysanthos would have found most comical, if it weren’t for the trowel he was wielding. Somehow, the fact that a small man was angry and waving a farm implement at him was terribly unsettling to him. For a moment, he reflected upon what the witch who had cursed him must have felt like when the villagers had set upon her, to throw her in the stockade. Then he reminded himself that had the thoughtless witch not cursed him, he would not be standing in this freezing tavern, trying to subdue the wrath of an angry little elf. He sighed and thought about how he might be able to fix the floor in such a short amount of time. After patching the holes in the wall, and mending the tables and the barroom counter, he only had a few scraps of wood left. It wouldn’t be enough to cover a patch of the bare ice, which now glistened on the floor. Now that the cracks in the roof as well as the cracks in the walls were sealed, some of the ice was beginning to melt. At that moment, inspiration struck. Chrysanthos raced up the creaky old stairs to his room, narrowly missing the weak spot in the sixth stair, which had he crashed through it, would surely have crippled him, and taken this story on a completely and utterly ludicrous tangent. This ludicrous tangent would have taken several more words to explain, which would be fortunate for my word count, but terribly unfortunate for the furtherance of this plot, which up until this point has been nearly nonexistent. So now we shall move onward, as I can not possibly think of a single other thing to babble incoherently about, with the possible exception of my ability to ramble, which is truly legendary.

CHAPTER 10

Mon, 13 Nov 2006 06:22:12 GMT

As they approached, they realized that it was not an illusion. Many were indeed tiny houses, some of which were carved directly out of the snow. The few that weren’t had some kind of shiny paneling on the roofs. They were tired, and very low on supplies, so they decided to stay and find out if they had any supplies they might be able to trade for what they needed. They made their way to the bottom of the valley and found what they could only assume was the inn. Chrysanthos knocked on the door, which swung open of its own accord. Chrysanthos and Carol took this as an invitation to walk in, so they did. The small party peered through the darkness in an attempt to ascertain whether anyone was even there, and if they were, whether they would tolerate strange travelers in their midst. As their eyes adjusted to the dim light, they could see tiny shadowy figures ducking this way and that. Carol and Chrysanthos could not tell if they belonged to anything living or even approaching human. A violin began to play, softly at first, but ever so slowly they heard the volume of the music begin to increase, as well as the speed. Out of abject terror, Carol’s brother tried to hide himself in the folds of his brother-in-law Chrysanthos’ jacket. They could hear the sounds of flint being struck. What they did not realize was that such a large quantity of flint had been struck. The room was suddenly bathed in a ridiculously bright glare. The five travelers flinched and shielded their eyes. Claws had to jump several feet forward to avoid being singed. In the process, he unceremoniously dumped his brother-in-law in a heap on the floor. This caused Carol to laugh uproariously. A voice pierced the awkward ensuing silence and the group turned towards it.
“I realize our appearance must seem odd to you, but you are now a guest, and guests should not make fun.”
On further examination, their appearance did seem terribly odd. Everyone in the room was of terribly short stature. Indeed the tallest of them was a full head shorter than the vertically challenged father of Carol (who really, really needs a name, because the pronouns are becoming awkward, not to mention tiring.) They had wide eyes, and their hair was styled in a disturbingly similar fashion, making it all but impossible to distinguish their respective genders. Several of the beings were now wielding torches, and were awkwardly tossing about their pieces of flint, and looking decidedly uncomfortable. Chrysanthos politely stuck out his hand as a matter of introduction. He greeted his prospective host with his best guess as to the small person’s gender.
“Hello…sir. Please forgive my wife. You see, I was startled when you lit your torches, and had to jump to avoid getting singed. That is what made her laugh. It had nothing to do with your appearance. We do apologize.”
“Apology accepted. My name is Elvis and I run this establishment,” He glanced around at his comrades, “such as it is.” The timbre of the little man’s voice indicated that Chrysanthos’ had indeed correctly guessed his gender. He studied Chrysanthos’ hand for a moment, and then extended his own in a reciprocal gesture.
Chrysanthos shook it, nearly lifting him off the ground. “We need a room for the night. We will be willing to take any vacancy you have.”
“Ah, but are you willing to pay?”
“We haven’t many coins to our name, but we can barter what we have to spare for the rest.” He extracted a few shiny baubles from his pouch, acquired from a merchant in the last town they’d seen. “I’m afraid I have nothing in the local currency.” He apologized. “We had no idea there was even a town so far north.”
“Well, here we are, here we’ve always been, and I suppose here we always will be.” Elvis and the others in the tavern chuckled. “I suppose your animals will want some hay to eat?”
“How can you have any hay in this barren place. All we can see for miles around is ice and snow.”
Elvis smiled, “Elviira, bring our visitors some hay.” He ordered. A young-looking female stood up and ran into a back room. “It may not be partially what they’re used to, but it’s better than starving.” The other elf returned with a bundle of grassy looking matter. It was fibrous and a little discolored, but all the same, it was recognizable as some sort of hay. She set it down at Chrysanthos’ feet.
“That is truly amazing.” Carol marveled.
“However did you manage to grow anything in this wasteland? It’s much too cold for plant life.” Chrysanthos asked.
“We’re a simple people, but we have our ways.” Said Elvis. “Moss grows well here, and over time we’ve learned that some varieties cross breed well to make something like grass.”
“How in the world do you keep it from freezing”
“The panels on those buildings that aren’t made from ice have the power to heat the buildings. We keep fires going too. It keeps it just warm enough to grow the mosses.”
“Well, we’re very grateful, sir, and we thank you.” Chrysanthos bowed. Carol picked up the bundle and took it outside to the animals. Her mother, brother and father followed, leaving Chrysanthos alone with the strange folk.
“I’ll take those shiny beads, and show you to your room. Do your companions need a separate one?”
Chrysanthos stepped back a few feet. “How did you know there were more than the two of us?”
“You’re not the first travelers to come through here. Everyone who wants to run away tries to get as far north as possible. It seems to be the way to go. Most get homesick and go back, eventually. Even the undead spirits.”
“If I may be so bold” Chrysanthos asked, “How is it that you wound up here?”
“You have to ask? Look at us. Not quite human, not quite ghoul, just bizarre accidents of Mother Nature. We didn’t even know what to call ourselves for the longest time.”
“So, what do you call yourselves?”
The little man sighed. “I’m called Elvis, the girl who brought you the hay is Elviira, the rest were Elvin, Elvena, Elver, Elvonne, Elvester, and so on…” Chrysanthos stared blankly at him. “We’re Elves.”
“Oh, well, that does seem only logical.” Carol, and the three spirits re-entered. Elvis motioned for them to follow, and led them to the back of the long room, and through another door. The door was heavy, and as it creaked open, the top of the door scratched along the frame. They made their way through something resembling a kitchen, though all the counters were lopsided. Many of the cabinet doors hung open. A few hung upside down. Chrysanthos considered the possibility of turning a tidy profit in the area. They climbed up a flight of stairs, three of which buckled a little under Chrysanthos’ increasing weight. Their room was about as well constructed as the rest of the poor building. There were gaps between the wallboards, and a draft of wind blew the door, shut, and a few pieces of the ceiling crumbled and fell down. As Chrysanthos and his family followed the path of the bits of ceiling down to the floor, they saw that quite a bit more of the ceiling had found its way to the floor. In fact the floor was covered in a fine layer of dust from the ceiling.
Elvis blushed “I’m afraid our skill at carpentry doesn’t quite match our skill at horticulture.”
Chrysanthos smiled. “You’re in luck, then, friend. I made a good trade in carpentry where I came from. Perhaps I could be persuaded to stay longer, in exchange for continued accommodation.” The two men shook hands and then retired for the evening. Being insubstantial, the three ghosts didn’t mind sleeping on the ground, while the two living ones took the bed. They found that it was far easier to simply lift the mattress off the creaky, dilapidated old frame, and take their chances on the floor.

Chapter...Nine is it?

Sun, 12 Nov 2006 22:54:45 GMT

The matter of caring for their descendents was decided easily enough. Carol’s oldest brother had never married, so their property was left to the family of their second son. Chrysanthos left his own property to his oldest son, and made provisions that his other children and surviving siblings would be well cared for, whether in clerical service, equitable marriage, or lodging in the family home, if their own ventures in the trades proved unsuccessful. The estate itself had grown to a respectable size. With the combined income of Chrysanthos and his extended family, they were able to purchase enough lumber to construct an extra wing to their home with a second level. It was on the first floor of this wing that Carol’s parents spent most of their time. They had locked it off, and from the main part of the house, it could only be accessed through a secret door, hidden in a cupboard.
The brother was a little distraught at the fact that he no longer had a corporeal body to speak of. His initial concern was what he would eat, and how he might eat, but those concerns were quickly replaced by more pressing issues, such as the fact that he was now nude, and quite cold because of it. Chrysanthos quickly fetched him a bedsheet, which Carol’s parents held in front of him until he was able to grasp it himself. They explained that he could wear any clothes he liked to wear while he was living, but that ordinary mortals could only see the clothes floating in midair. Only the undead and the mortality-impaired could see his body, which looked much like it had in his prime. That is to say, as he was when Chrysanthos had first met the family.
So, the family began to discuss their future plans. It was quickly agreed that it was not safe for Carol and Chrysanthos to remain in the area. After all, the fact of their presumed immortality might make the folks in the village nervous, and it never bode well for the elderly of that time, if they happened to make their neighbors nervous. It was decided that they must travel somewhere remote, somewhere uninhabited. As Chrysanthos was used to traveling northward first, it was agreed that they would set their sights for a land known today as Antarctica. They knew it snowed constantly in the north, and they felt it would be an ideal place to spend the rest of their days, as it would always be as cold and wintry as the day when Chrysanthos and Carol first met.
They packed up what provisions they could carry between the five of them, a draft horse, and a mule and set out for the great unknown. Occasionally, they would need to stop and set up camp in a heavily populated city. The three ghosts would disguise themselves by hiding under the traveling bundles, which Carol and Chrysanthos pulled along behind them. Then, they would take up lodging in a local inn while they bartered for whatever new supplies they needed. When they had what they needed to continue, they moved onward. On the journey, they had acquired an impressive assortment of animals, building material, and more warm clothing than they would ever know what to do with. At one point, when they were traveling across a mountain range, they came across a man who could manufacture the most brilliant, vivid fur dyes. At once, Chrysanthos saw that he had the capacity to make a dye as brilliantly red as the mums from which his name was derived. He ordered the man to make him a fur coat of that exact color, and gave him his best breeding pair of fowl in exchange. To his astonishment, the clothier had added some white adornment and shiny black buttons. Chrysanthos thought it was a cloak fit for a king and he did not remove it for the rest of the journey.
As they traveled farther and farther into the harsher climates of the antipodes of the earth, civilizations became few and farther between. Sightings of hay for the animals became more and more sparse as well. They were beginning to fall ill, but still mostly holding out. Just when the small group thought they must surely be miles away from any civilization, they came over a hill and saw what appeared to be several rows of houses with lanterns lighting the windows.