Tales of the Parodyverse >> View Thread
1 2 3  >> All
Author
Visionary continues the Christmas tale



Posted with Mozilla Firefox 2.0.0.11 on Windows XP



"So then we're not really saving Christmas then, are we?" the fairy princess Magweed asked as the three of them tromped through the crusty snowpack. Despite the fact that she was wearing only her bedclothes (an oversized flannel nightshirt, leggings and big, fuzzy, purple slippers--plus a long striped scarf which Zebulon had offered her from his pack,) she was surprisingly comfortable in the harsh environment. She did, however, wrap her arms about her body and tuck in her hands in deference to the impressive dreamland glacial landscape, which she wouldn't want to offend by taking for granted.

"Well, okay... maybe not the holiday..." Zebulon the elf conceded, his arms held out from his body to keep his balance on the slick surface. "I know that it's not something that's celebrated in the Mythlands , so you'll have to believe me when I tell you that the more secular legends and trappings of it are still a big deal in the mortal world. In fact, the North Pole operation is the only aspect of Faerie that that parents still teach their children to believe in. Well, okay... maybe the whole tooth collecting operation too... but don't you find that kind of creepy? I mean, sneaking into children's bedrooms and paying them off for a discarded body part? Ghoulish, I say. Santa, he only sneaks into the house once a year... and not into anyone's bedroom. Those tabloid rumors have no basis in fact, I'll have you know... Paris is so not his type. Now, Mrs. Fields the cookie Mogul... maybe I could see him getting tempted. But he's a one-woman jolly old elf, I assure you..."

"Why are we walking?" Griffin grumbled, his talons crunching the frozen tundra. "If this is my dream, we so should be flying. I'm sure I could get airborne carrying the two of you... I just need to run downhill a bit to pick up speed..."

Zebulon snorted. "I'll pass, thanks... I heard about your last flight. Word is there's still an imprint of your face in the beach."

Griffin's feathered head shot up. "You... heard about that?"

The elf shrugged modestly. "I, um... have an in with elfin intelligence. Those naughty and nice lists are very thorough, with the whole "sees you when you're sleeping... knows when you're awake..." thing."

The beaked boy nodded and rolled his eyes. "Yeah... and the Tooth Fairy is the creepy operation"

"Hmmmph" Zebulon replied. "In any event, we're just using your dream to keep the three of us together while we travel northward through the dreams of other people. It's really the quickest way to the North Pole and the gate to the Mythlands there."

The lion/eagle/boy looked around him. "This isn't my dream any more? Then whose is it?"

"That guy's" the elf noted, pointing to an ice fisherman hunched over a small hole in the surface of a frozen lake. He was struggling mightily with the line as something gargantuan took his bait. "Murry Felderman of Edmonton, Alberta. Nice guy... has this dream every night, but never lands the fish."

Magweed waved a polite hello to the man, but he never looked up from his catch. She glanced instead to their tiny elfin guide "Why do you keep looking behind us?" she asked curiously, looking back herself. "Are you expecting someone to follow us?"

"Er... no reason. Of course I'm not" the elf flushed guiltily. "I'm on a perfectly valid mission to save Christmas."

"Secular Christmas" Griffin reminded him.

"Right" Zebulon agreed. "No reason to encourage angry letter writers" he added cryptically. "Anyway, you'd be surprised how much Mythland politics are involved in that side of the holiday."

Magweed wasn't so sure she would be. "What is it Poppa always says about politics, Griff?"

Her brother cocked his head to the side. "Well... it's kind of this muffled, moaning sound..." he answered. "Although Sir Mumphrey tends to use phrases with various combinations of "bloody", "bounders" and "right sound thrashing" mixed with more colorful bits we're not supposed to repeat."

"Well, same thing here... only with politicians that are ageless, and so likely even more stubborn and crooked" Zebulon reasoned. "It's like this... Magic isn't supposed to work outside of Faerie any more... at least not the kind of magic that we're talking about. Most of the Fey magic that's still in the modern world is either there by special dispensation of the Queene , or is the work of renegades and exiles. In short, Santa has to be licensed to run his North Pole workshop, with unionized elfin labor and all magic imported through Mythland trade agreements."

"Okay" Magweed nodded, following so far.

"The problem is that the mortal realms aren't too popular in Faerie court right now... What with all that trouble with the Parody Master, the general consensus is that we should be stockpiling all of our magic in case of future invasion, and not exporting it in a money-losing venture to bring toys to a world full of people that don't believe in us any more. Some of the loudest voices on the Queene's council are the Isolationists. If they get their way, Santa would be cut off. No more oats to make the reindeer fly. No more time-displacement sleigh." He sighed. "No more fairy dust for dreamy elves to sprinkle..."

"Dreamy elves?" Griffin asked.

"Er... what?" Zebulon replied. "Did I say that last part out loud?"

"Yes" Magweed confirmed absently, chewing on her lip as she considered things. "So how do we help?"

"Well, that's simple..." Zebulon said, puffing up his chest. "We go into the dreams of the Isolationists and we try to talk them out of voting to recall Santa at the next council meeting!" He smiled triumphantly. "Santa gets to stay in business, the children of the world get their secular Christmas traditions, and the very hard-working and deserving elves don't lose their jobs and get reassigned to miserable desk assignments in remote kingdoms where I'll... er, few will ever see them again." He gestured hesitantly as he continued walking. "Okay, so maybe the Isolationists weren't willing to hear my arguments when I approached them on my own before... but you're a Fairy Princess! They'll have to grant you an audience! And really, politicians are all about the quid pro quo ... they really just want to cut off contact with the mortal realm because it isn't benefiting their districts in any way. But if we can add a little pork to the trade agreement for them, I'm sure they'll come around."

"They can't find pigs to eat in the Mythlands?" Maggie asked, feeling a bit lost now.

"Wait a minute..." Griffin interjected. "Santa sent you on a mission to bribe the Queene's council?"

"Er... well... not exactly. I'm more of an independently concerned citizen. And bribe is an ugly word... It's really more of a negotiation."

"And the Queene of Faerie..." the feathered twin continued shrewdly, "She's going to be okay with Maggie of all people trying to influence her closest advisers?"

"Ah... um..." Zebulon hemmed, tugging at his collar. "That's where things might get a bit delicate..."



to be continued







CrazySugarFreakBoy!


Member Since: Sun Jan 04, 2004
Posts: 1,235

Posted with Microsoft Internet Explorer 7 on Windows XP

Nice applications of politics here, plus fun reactions from the kids.
For a plot that's being made up on the spot, you're doing well so far.
Send me an e-mail, so we can talk about how I might contribute to this.




HH



Posted with Microsoft Internet Explorer 6 on Windows 2000

>

>
> "So then we're not really saving Christmas then, are we?" the fairy princess Magweed asked as the three of them tromped through the crusty snowpack. Despite the fact that she was wearing only her bedclothes (an oversized flannel nightshirt, leggings and big, fuzzy, purple slippers--plus a long stripped scarf which Zebulon had offered her from his pack,) she was surprisingly comfortable in the harsh environment. She did, however, wrap her arms about her body and tuck in her hands in deference to the impressive dreamland glacial landscape, which she wouldn't want to offend by taking for granted.
>
> "Well, okay... maybe not the holiday..." Zebulon the elf conceded, his arms held out from his body to keep his balance on the slick surface. "I know that it's not something that's celebrated in the Mythlands , so you'll have to believe me when I tell you that the more secular legends and trappings of it are still a big deal in the mortal world. In fact, the North Pole operation is the only aspect of Faerie that that parents still teach their children to believe in. Well, okay... maybe the whole tooth collecting operation too... but don't you find that kind of creepy? I mean, sneaking into children's bedrooms and paying them off for a discarded body part? Ghoulish, I say. Santa, he only sneaks into the house once a year... and not into anyone's bedroom. Those tabloid rumors have no basis in fact, I'll have you know... Paris is so not his type. Now, Mrs. Fields the cookie Mogul... maybe I could see him getting tempted. But he's a one-woman jolly old elf, I assure you..."
>
> "Why are we walking?" Griffin grumbled, his talons crunching the frozen tundra. "If this is my dream, we so should be flying. I'm sure I could get airborne carrying the two of you... I just need to run downhill a bit to pick up speed..."
>
> Zebulon snorted. "I'll pass, thanks... I heard about your last flight. Word is there's still an imprint of your face in the beach."
>
> Griffin's feathered head shot up. "You... heard about that?"
>
> The elf shrugged modestly. "I, um... have an in with elfin intelligence. Those naughty and nice lists are very thorough, with the whole "sees you when you're sleeping... knows when you're awake..." thing."
>
> The beaked boy nodded and rolled his eyes. "Yeah... and the Tooth Fairy is the creepy operation"
>
> "Hmmmph" Zebulon replied. "In any event, we're just using your dream to keep the three of us together while we travel northward through the dreams of other people. It's really the quickest way to the North Pole and the gate to the Mythlands there."
>
> The lion/eagle/boy looked around him. "This isn't my dream any more? Then whose is it?"
>
> "That guy's" the elf noted, pointing to an ice fisherman hunched over a small hole in the surface of a frozen lake. He was struggling mightily with the line as something gargantuan took his bait. "Murry Felderman of Edmonton, Alberta. Nice guy... has this dream every night, but never lands the fish."
>
> Magweed waved a polite hello to the man, but he never looked up from his catch. She glanced instead to their tiny elfin guide "Why do you keep looking behind us?" she asked curiously, looking back herself. "Are you expecting someone to follow us?"
>
> "Er... no reason. Of course I'm not" the elf flushed guiltily. "I'm on a perfectly valid mission to save Christmas."
>
> "Secular Christmas" Griffin reminded him.
>
> "Right" Zebulon agreed. "No reason to encourage angry letter writers" he added cryptically. "Anyway, you'd be surprised how much Mythland politics are involved in that side of the holiday."
>
> Magweed wasn't so sure she would be. "What is it Poppa always says about politics, Griff?"
>
> Her brother cocked his head to the side. "Well... it's kind of this muffled, moaning sound..." he answered. "Although Sir Mumphrey tends to use phrases with various combinations of "bloody", "bounders" and "right sound thrashing" mixed with more colorful bits we're not supposed to repeat."
>
> "Well, same thing here... only with politicians that are ageless, and so likely even more stubborn and crooked" Zebulon reasoned. "It's like this... Magic isn't supposed to work outside of Faerie any more... at least not the kind of magic that we're talking about. Most of the Fey magic that's still in the modern world is either there by special dispensation of the Queene , or is the work of renegades and exiles. In short, Santa has to be licensed to run his North Pole workshop, with unionized elfin labor and all magic imported through Mythland trade agreements."
>
> "Okay" Magweed nodded, following so far.
>
> "The problem is that the mortal realms aren't too popular in Faerie court right now... What with all that trouble with the Parody Master, the general consensus is that we should be stockpiling all of our magic in case of future invasion, and not exporting it in a money-losing venture to bring toys to a world full of people that don't believe in us any more. Some of the loudest voices on the Queene's council are the Isolationists. If they get their way, Santa would be cut off. No more oats to make the reindeer fly. No more time-displacement sleigh." He sighed. "No more fairy dust for dreamy elves to sprinkle..."
>
> "Dreamy elves?" Griffin asked.
>
> "Er... what?" Zebulon replied. "Did I say that last part out loud?"
>
> "Yes" Magweed confirmed absently, chewing on her lip as she considered things. "So how do we help?"
>
> "Well, that's simple..." Zebulon said, puffing up his chest. "We go into the dreams of the Isolationists and we try to talk them out of voting to recall Santa at the next council meeting!" He smiled triumphantly. "Santa gets to stay in business, the children of the world get their secular Christmas traditions, and the very hard-working and deserving elves don't lose their jobs and get reassigned to miserable desk assignments in remote kingdoms where I'll... er, few will ever see them again." He gestured hesitantly as he continued walking. "Okay, so maybe the Isolationists weren't willing to hear my arguments when I approached them on my own before... but you're a Fairy Princess! They'll have to grant you an audience! And really, politicians are all about the quid pro quo ... they really just want to cut off contact with the mortal realm because it isn't benefiting their districts in any way. But if we can add a little pork to the trade agreement for them, I'm sure they'll come around."
>
> "They can't find pigs to eat in the Mythlands?" Maggie asked, feeling a bit lost now.
>
> "Wait a minute..." Griffin interjected. "Santa sent you on a mission to bribe the Queene's council?"
>
> "Er... well... not exactly. I'm more of an independently concerned citizen. And bribe is an ugly word... It's really more of a negotiation."
>
> "And the Queene of Faerie..." the feathered twin continued shrewdly, "She's going to be okay with Maggie of all people trying to influence her closest advisers?"
>
> "Ah... um..." Zebulon hemmed, tugging at his collar. "That's where things might get a bit delicate..."
>
>
>
> to be continued
>
>

>





Dancer via HH



Posted with Microsoft Internet Explorer 6 on Windows 2000

[Previously: Cinderbelle the Christmas Fairy and Dancer are roaming through people’s dreams trying to track Cindy’s accidental husband Zebulon the Elf, who has “borrowed” Cindy’s dream-stalking fairy dust. Dancer is just pleased it’s not her with the accidental husband for once.]

[The Scene: Smoke is everywhere. Mighty warriors lay sprawled across the landscape, their once-mighty bodies now gory ruins. Small fires burn in the smouldering wreckage of the hall.]

Cinderbelle, with a gasp: What happened here? Some kind of terrible battle?

Dancer, sniffing a fallen warrior’s breath: A party, I’m guessing. Maximum quaffing. Although in Ausgard it’s kind of difficult to tell the difference between a really good party and a small war sometimes.

Cinderbelle: We’re in Ausgard, legendary home of the legendary Ausgardian Gods?

Dancer: Yep. And can I say that was really good exposition narrative you managed there, working vital plot information into the situation without seeming to lecture the readers.

Cinderbelle: We’re in a man’s dream, aren’t we? Look at the proportions of those women. Nobody could really have physiques like those and still be able to stand upright.

Dancer: Um, those are valkyries, and they really look like that. I think they have super-strength for the standing part of their duties. I know for a fact that Brunhilde can strangle a man to death with her bare thighs. There’s a waiting list.

Cinderbelle: So we’re in the dreams of the Legionnaire Donar, right? You think that sneaky sonofahag Zebulon might have hidden out here with my stolen pixie dust? And what have I just trodden in?

Dancer: Well, it’s from inside a god, so it might be kind of sacred. Take comfort in that. I know I’m taking comfort from the fact that you’re not wearing my shoes any more.

Cinderbelle: What are we wearing? Aaagh! Cold iron! Cold iron chainmail and cold iron… eggcups?

Dancer: The secret is not to flex your arms upwards too much. It really hurts if you get your nipples caught between the links. Also, it can be embarrassing having to ask the rest of the cast for help to get them loose.

Cinderbelle: Fairies can’t wear cold iron. We have an allergy! Get it off me!

Dancer: You really might want to reconsider that here in the Hall of Quaffing. Some of the not-quite-passed-out warriors could misunderstand. And what would your husband think then?

Cinderbelle: He is not my husband in anything but a strictly accidental sense of the word. One minute that damn Zebulon’s all “have another ambrosia”, the next we’re jumping over the broom and under the buffet table. If I ever find out who spiked the punch with reindeer pee I’m going to send the tooth fairy round with a big bag of sixpences.

Dancer: I don’t see Zebulon round here. We might want to get away before the ogres arrive. And the really big goat carts.

Cinderbelle: Ogres? Goat carts?

Dancer: Well, Donar tends to have a fairly limited list of enthusiasms. Be glad we’ve not run into any Vampire Slayers or Warrior Princesses.

Cinderbelle: Zebulon? Are you hiding out here, you no-good double-crossing orc-breathed good-for-nothing? When I find you you’re going to pay for dragging me through this lurid dreamscape with the smelly hairy warriors draped over the weapons of mass destruction and for stealing my bag of pixie dust when I had a specially heavy night of naughty and nice-ing to get on with and for that whole sequence with the clockwork Snoopys where you… er, never mind.

Dancer, intrigued: Don’t mind me. Carry on. But I think you’re wrong about Donar’s dream though. Look past the smelly hairy warriors and see the rest of it. See the sunrise, breaking over the fresh clean land? The birdsong? The way the light shimmers off the water and the way every lintel is so carefully carved? If only you see past the obvious traits that every man can’t help but have because they’re basically men, there’s a whole lot of other stuff they try so hard to hide.

Cinderbelle, looking round the Hall of All-Quaffing: I don’t see them hiding very much right now. Especially that guy who’s passed out sprawled hanging from the tusks of that huge stuffed pig thing on the wall.

Dancer: What I’m saying is you might want to give Zebulon a second look. I mean sure he’s an obsessive gadget-ridden fabulist with the emotional maturity of a teabag, but… that’s men. If you were only to…

Sound effect: Crashhhh!!!!!!!!!!

Dancer: And queue the ogres, stage left.

Cinderbelle: Ogres? We have to run! Eep!

Dancer: Nah, don’t worry. Remember who’s dream this is. These are just temporary ogres, for sure. Transient ogres. Momentary ogres. [Behind her the ogres are mugged by a Warrior Princess and a Vampire Slayer]

Cinderbelle: It’s pretty clear that Zebulon’s not here. We’d better move on. I need to get out of these eggcups before I need audience participation.

Dancer: No problem. I think that’s another Legionnaire dream I see wafting past right now isn’t it? Let’s take the plunge. And hope that somebody else writes something to catch us. Geronimo!!!!

Continued by some kind person. By tomorrow.


Original concepts, characters, and situations copyright © 2007 reserved by Sarah Shepherdson. Other Parodyverse characters copyright © 2007 to their creators. The use of characters and situations reminiscent of other popular works do not constitute a challenge to the copyrights or trademarks of those works. The right of Sarah Shepherdson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved.








HH thinks we need to fix the board to show the full title though



Posted with Microsoft Internet Explorer 6 on Windows 2000

>
[Previously: Cinderbelle the Christmas Fairy and Dancer are roaming through people’s dreams trying to track Cindy’s accidental husband Zebulon the Elf, who has “borrowed” Cindy’s dream-stalking fairy dust. Dancer is just pleased it’s not her with the accidental husband for once.]
>
> [The Scene: Smoke is everywhere. Mighty warriors lay sprawled across the landscape, their once-mighty bodies now gory ruins. Small fires burn in the smouldering wreckage of the hall.]
>
> Cinderbelle, with a gasp: What happened here? Some kind of terrible battle?
>
> Dancer, sniffing a fallen warrior’s breath: A party, I’m guessing. Maximum quaffing. Although in Ausgard it’s kind of difficult to tell the difference between a really good party and a small war sometimes.
>
> Cinderbelle: We’re in Ausgard, legendary home of the legendary Ausgardian Gods?
>
> Dancer: Yep. And can I say that was really good exposition narrative you managed there, working vital plot information into the situation without seeming to lecture the readers.
>
> Cinderbelle: We’re in a man’s dream, aren’t we? Look at the proportions of those women. Nobody could really have physiques like those and still be able to stand upright.
>
> Dancer: Um, those are valkyries, and they really look like that. I think they have super-strength for the standing part of their duties. I know for a fact that Brunhilde can strangle a man to death with her bare thighs. There’s a waiting list.
>
> Cinderbelle: So we’re in the dreams of the Legionnaire Donar, right? You think that sneaky sonofahag Zebulon might have hidden out here with my stolen pixie dust? And what have I just trodden in?
>
> Dancer: Well, it’s from inside a god, so it might be kind of sacred. Take comfort in that. I know I’m taking comfort from the fact that you’re not wearing my shoes any more.
>
> Cinderbelle: What are we wearing? Aaagh! Cold iron! Cold iron chainmail and cold iron… eggcups?
>
> Dancer: The secret is not to flex your arms upwards too much. It really hurts if you get your nipples caught between the links. Also, it can be embarrassing having to ask the rest of the cast for help to get them loose.
>
> Cinderbelle: Fairies can’t wear cold iron. We have an allergy! Get it off me!
>
> Dancer: You really might want to reconsider that here in the Hall of Quaffing. Some of the not-quite-passed-out warriors could misunderstand. And what would your husband think then?
>
> Cinderbelle: He is not my husband in anything but a strictly accidental sense of the word. One minute that damn Zebulon’s all “have another ambrosia”, the next we’re jumping over the broom and under the buffet table. If I ever find out who spiked the punch with reindeer pee I’m going to send the tooth fairy round with a big bag of sixpences.
>
> Dancer: I don’t see Zebulon round here. We might want to get away before the ogres arrive. And the really big goat carts.
>
> Cinderbelle: Ogres? Goat carts?
>
> Dancer: Well, Donar tends to have a fairly limited list of enthusiasms. Be glad we’ve not run into any Vampire Slayers or Warrior Princesses.
>
> Cinderbelle: Zebulon? Are you hiding out here, you no-good double-crossing orc-breathed good-for-nothing? When I find you you’re going to pay for dragging me through this lurid dreamscape with the smelly hairy warriors draped over the weapons of mass destruction and for stealing my bag of pixie dust when I had a specially heavy night of naughty and nice-ing to get on with and for that whole sequence with the clockwork Snoopys where you… er, never mind.
>
> Dancer, intrigued: Don’t mind me. Carry on. But I think you’re wrong about Donar’s dream though. Look past the smelly hairy warriors and see the rest of it. See the sunrise, breaking over the fresh clean land? The birdsong? The way the light shimmers off the water and the way every lintel is so carefully carved? If only you see past the obvious traits that every man can’t help but have because they’re basically men, there’s a whole lot of other stuff they try so hard to hide.
>
> Cinderbelle, looking round the Hall of All-Quaffing: I don’t see them hiding very much right now. Especially that guy who’s passed out sprawled hanging from the tusks of that huge stuffed pig thing on the wall.
>
> Dancer: What I’m saying is you might want to give Zebulon a second look. I mean sure he’s an obsessive gadget-ridden fabulist with the emotional maturity of a teabag, but… that’s men. If you were only to…
>
> Sound effect: Crashhhh!!!!!!!!!!
>
> Dancer: And queue the ogres, stage left.
>
> Cinderbelle: Ogres? We have to run! Eep!
>
> Dancer: Nah, don’t worry. Remember who’s dream this is. These are just temporary ogres, for sure. Transient ogres. Momentary ogres. [Behind her the ogres are mugged by a Warrior Princess and a Vampire Slayer]
>
> Cinderbelle: It’s pretty clear that Zebulon’s not here. We’d better move on. I need to get out of these eggcups before I need audience participation.
>
> Dancer: No problem. I think that’s another Legionnaire dream I see wafting past right now isn’t it? Let’s take the plunge. And hope that somebody else writes something to catch us. Geronimo!!!!
>
> Continued by some kind person. By tomorrow.
>
>
> Original concepts, characters, and situations copyright © 2007 reserved by Sarah Shepherdson. Other Parodyverse characters copyright © 2007 to their creators. The use of characters and situations reminiscent of other popular works do not constitute a challenge to the copyrights or trademarks of those works. The right of Sarah Shepherdson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved.

>
>
>






Visionary



Posted with Mozilla Firefox 2.0.0.11 on Windows XP

> Nice applications of politics here, plus fun reactions from the kids.
> For a plot that's being made up on the spot, you're doing well so far.
> Send me an e-mail, so we can talk about how I might contribute to this.


This was the big exposition chapter. Well, one of them... I can't really rule out needing another or more as this thing goes on. Obviously, you and everyone are already invited to add a Dancer and Cinderbelle chapter, but I'm guessing you have something else in mind...




Visionary



Posted with Mozilla Firefox 2.0.0.11 on Windows XP

> >

> >
> > "So then we're not really saving Christmas then, are we?" the fairy princess Magweed asked as the three of them tromped through the crusty snowpack. Despite the fact that she was wearing only her bedclothes (an oversized flannel nightshirt, leggings and big, fuzzy, purple slippers--plus a long stripped scarf which Zebulon had offered her from his pack,) she was surprisingly comfortable in the harsh environment. She did, however, wrap her arms about her body and tuck in her hands in deference to the impressive dreamland glacial landscape, which she wouldn't want to offend by taking for granted.
> >
> > "Well, okay... maybe not the holiday..." Zebulon the elf conceded, his arms held out from his body to keep his balance on the slick surface. "I know that it's not something that's celebrated in the Mythlands , so you'll have to believe me when I tell you that the more secular legends and trappings of it are still a big deal in the mortal world. In fact, the North Pole operation is the only aspect of Faerie that that parents still teach their children to believe in. Well, okay... maybe the whole tooth collecting operation too... but don't you find that kind of creepy? I mean, sneaking into children's bedrooms and paying them off for a discarded body part? Ghoulish, I say. Santa, he only sneaks into the house once a year... and not into anyone's bedroom. Those tabloid rumors have no basis in fact, I'll have you know... Paris is so not his type. Now, Mrs. Fields the cookie Mogul... maybe I could see him getting tempted. But he's a one-woman jolly old elf, I assure you..."
> >
> > "Why are we walking?" Griffin grumbled, his talons crunching the frozen tundra. "If this is my dream, we so should be flying. I'm sure I could get airborne carrying the two of you... I just need to run downhill a bit to pick up speed..."
> >
> > Zebulon snorted. "I'll pass, thanks... I heard about your last flight. Word is there's still an imprint of your face in the beach."
> >
> > Griffin's feathered head shot up. "You... heard about that?"
> >
> > The elf shrugged modestly. "I, um... have an in with elfin intelligence. Those naughty and nice lists are very thorough, with the whole "sees you when you're sleeping... knows when you're awake..." thing."
> >
> > The beaked boy nodded and rolled his eyes. "Yeah... and the Tooth Fairy is the creepy operation"
> >
> > "Hmmmph" Zebulon replied. "In any event, we're just using your dream to keep the three of us together while we travel northward through the dreams of other people. It's really the quickest way to the North Pole and the gate to the Mythlands there."
> >
> > The lion/eagle/boy looked around him. "This isn't my dream any more? Then whose is it?"
> >
> > "That guy's" the elf noted, pointing to an ice fisherman hunched over a small hole in the surface of a frozen lake. He was struggling mightily with the line as something gargantuan took his bait. "Murry Felderman of Edmonton, Alberta. Nice guy... has this dream every night, but never lands the fish."
> >
> > Magweed waved a polite hello to the man, but he never looked up from his catch. She glanced instead to their tiny elfin guide "Why do you keep looking behind us?" she asked curiously, looking back herself. "Are you expecting someone to follow us?"
> >
> > "Er... no reason. Of course I'm not" the elf flushed guiltily. "I'm on a perfectly valid mission to save Christmas."
> >
> > "Secular Christmas" Griffin reminded him.
> >
> > "Right" Zebulon agreed. "No reason to encourage angry letter writers" he added cryptically. "Anyway, you'd be surprised how much Mythland politics are involved in that side of the holiday."
> >
> > Magweed wasn't so sure she would be. "What is it Poppa always says about politics, Griff?"
> >
> > Her brother cocked his head to the side. "Well... it's kind of this muffled, moaning sound..." he answered. "Although Sir Mumphrey tends to use phrases with various combinations of "bloody", "bounders" and "right sound thrashing" mixed with more colorful bits we're not supposed to repeat."
> >
> > "Well, same thing here... only with politicians that are ageless, and so likely even more stubborn and crooked" Zebulon reasoned. "It's like this... Magic isn't supposed to work outside of Faerie any more... at least not the kind of magic that we're talking about. Most of the Fey magic that's still in the modern world is either there by special dispensation of the Queene , or is the work of renegades and exiles. In short, Santa has to be licensed to run his North Pole workshop, with unionized elfin labor and all magic imported through Mythland trade agreements."
> >
> > "Okay" Magweed nodded, following so far.
> >
> > "The problem is that the mortal realms aren't too popular in Faerie court right now... What with all that trouble with the Parody Master, the general consensus is that we should be stockpiling all of our magic in case of future invasion, and not exporting it in a money-losing venture to bring toys to a world full of people that don't believe in us any more. Some of the loudest voices on the Queene's council are the Isolationists. If they get their way, Santa would be cut off. No more oats to make the reindeer fly. No more time-displacement sleigh." He sighed. "No more fairy dust for dreamy elves to sprinkle..."
> >
> > "Dreamy elves?" Griffin asked.
> >
> > "Er... what?" Zebulon replied. "Did I say that last part out loud?"
> >
> > "Yes" Magweed confirmed absently, chewing on her lip as she considered things. "So how do we help?"
> >
> > "Well, that's simple..." Zebulon said, puffing up his chest. "We go into the dreams of the Isolationists and we try to talk them out of voting to recall Santa at the next council meeting!" He smiled triumphantly. "Santa gets to stay in business, the children of the world get their secular Christmas traditions, and the very hard-working and deserving elves don't lose their jobs and get reassigned to miserable desk assignments in remote kingdoms where I'll... er, few will ever see them again." He gestured hesitantly as he continued walking. "Okay, so maybe the Isolationists weren't willing to hear my arguments when I approached them on my own before... but you're a Fairy Princess! They'll have to grant you an audience! And really, politicians are all about the quid pro quo ... they really just want to cut off contact with the mortal realm because it isn't benefiting their districts in any way. But if we can add a little pork to the trade agreement for them, I'm sure they'll come around."
> >
> > "They can't find pigs to eat in the Mythlands?" Maggie asked, feeling a bit lost now.
> >
> > "Wait a minute..." Griffin interjected. "Santa sent you on a mission to bribe the Queene's council?"
> >
> > "Er... well... not exactly. I'm more of an independently concerned citizen. And bribe is an ugly word... It's really more of a negotiation."
> >
> > "And the Queene of Faerie..." the feathered twin continued shrewdly, "She's going to be okay with Maggie of all people trying to influence her closest advisers?"
> >
> > "Ah... um..." Zebulon hemmed, tugging at his collar. "That's where things might get a bit delicate..."
> >
> >
> >
> > to be continued
> >
> >

> >





Visionary



Posted with Mozilla Firefox 2.0.0.11 on Windows XP


I enjoy nothing so much as Dancer's attempts at relationship rehabilitation, and so this series is a great deal of fun. Plus Ausgardians, if not an appearance by the big guy himself! That's always good for a bit of fun, a bit of violence, and possibly a mess on the rug after too much mead... which really is just the sign of a good party.

And "Temporary Ogres" is one of my favorite phrases of the year. ;\-\)






killer shrike



Posted with Microsoft Internet Explorer 7 on Windows Vista

First there was holding Donar hostage waaaay back in your original Xmas epic, now the little guy is hoping that politicians who may want something from the current Fairy Queen will be willing to listen to the girl who is her prophesized replacement.

Another fun chapter. I have a couple ideas how to tie in to the Dancer/Cinderbelle aspect of the story, one appropriate for the overall tone, one not so much. We'll see if I can get to it.




killer shrike



Posted with Microsoft Internet Explorer 7 on Windows Vista

> Dancer, intrigued: Don’t mind me. Carry on. But I think you’re wrong about Donar’s dream though. Look past the smelly hairy warriors and see the rest of it. See the sunrise, breaking over the fresh clean land? The birdsong? The way the light shimmers off the water and the way every lintel is so carefully carved? If only you see past the obvious traits that every man can’t help but have because they’re basically men, there’s a whole lot of other stuff they try so hard to hide.


A nice nod to the complexities of the unfairer sex amidst the hilarity.




Visionary



Posted with Mozilla Firefox 2.0.0.11 on Windows XP

> First there was holding Donar hostage waaaay back in your original Xmas epic, now the little guy is hoping that politicians who may want something from the current Fairy Queen will be willing to listen to the girl who is her prophesized replacement.

He means well at least... and how big of a mess can this cause?

>
> Another fun chapter. I have a couple ideas how to tie in to the Dancer/Cinderbelle aspect of the story, one appropriate for the overall tone, one not so much. We'll see if I can get to it.

I'm not sure there is an overall tone quite yet, as many people found the first chapter overly ominous... and then there was the nudity of the second chapter. I'd say you're probably safe. Either way, I look forward to seeing anything you might want to contribute!




Anime Jason 

Owner

Location: Here
Member Since: Sun Sep 12, 2004
Posts: 2,834


anime.mangacool.net (10.0.255.1)
using Apple Safari 3.0.4 on MacOS X (0 points)





Anime Jason 

Owner

Location: Here
Member Since: Sun Sep 12, 2004
Posts: 2,834


anime.mangacool.net (10.0.255.1)
using Apple Safari 3.0.4 on MacOS X (0 points)





Rhiannon



Posted with Microsoft Internet Explorer 6 on Windows XP

>

>
> "So then we're not really saving Christmas then, are we?" the fairy princess Magweed asked as the three of them tromped through the crusty snowpack. Despite the fact that she was wearing only her bedclothes (an oversized flannel nightshirt, leggings and big, fuzzy, purple slippers--plus a long striped scarf which Zebulon had offered her from his pack,) she was surprisingly comfortable in the harsh environment. She did, however, wrap her arms about her body and tuck in her hands in deference to the impressive dreamland glacial landscape, which she wouldn't want to offend by taking for granted.
>
> "Well, okay... maybe not the holiday..." Zebulon the elf conceded, his arms held out from his body to keep his balance on the slick surface. "I know that it's not something that's celebrated in the Mythlands , so you'll have to believe me when I tell you that the more secular legends and trappings of it are still a big deal in the mortal world. In fact, the North Pole operation is the only aspect of Faerie that that parents still teach their children to believe in. Well, okay... maybe the whole tooth collecting operation too... but don't you find that kind of creepy? I mean, sneaking into children's bedrooms and paying them off for a discarded body part? Ghoulish, I say. Santa, he only sneaks into the house once a year... and not into anyone's bedroom. Those tabloid rumors have no basis in fact, I'll have you know... Paris is so not his type. Now, Mrs. Fields the cookie Mogul... maybe I could see him getting tempted. But he's a one-woman jolly old elf, I assure you..."
>
> "Why are we walking?" Griffin grumbled, his talons crunching the frozen tundra. "If this is my dream, we so should be flying. I'm sure I could get airborne carrying the two of you... I just need to run downhill a bit to pick up speed..."
>
> Zebulon snorted. "I'll pass, thanks... I heard about your last flight. Word is there's still an imprint of your face in the beach."
>
> Griffin's feathered head shot up. "You... heard about that?"
>
> The elf shrugged modestly. "I, um... have an in with elfin intelligence. Those naughty and nice lists are very thorough, with the whole "sees you when you're sleeping... knows when you're awake..." thing."
>
> The beaked boy nodded and rolled his eyes. "Yeah... and the Tooth Fairy is the creepy operation"
>
> "Hmmmph" Zebulon replied. "In any event, we're just using your dream to keep the three of us together while we travel northward through the dreams of other people. It's really the quickest way to the North Pole and the gate to the Mythlands there."
>
> The lion/eagle/boy looked around him. "This isn't my dream any more? Then whose is it?"
>
> "That guy's" the elf noted, pointing to an ice fisherman hunched over a small hole in the surface of a frozen lake. He was struggling mightily with the line as something gargantuan took his bait. "Murry Felderman of Edmonton, Alberta. Nice guy... has this dream every night, but never lands the fish."
>
> Magweed waved a polite hello to the man, but he never looked up from his catch. She glanced instead to their tiny elfin guide "Why do you keep looking behind us?" she asked curiously, looking back herself. "Are you expecting someone to follow us?"
>
> "Er... no reason. Of course I'm not" the elf flushed guiltily. "I'm on a perfectly valid mission to save Christmas."
>
> "Secular Christmas" Griffin reminded him.
>
> "Right" Zebulon agreed. "No reason to encourage angry letter writers" he added cryptically. "Anyway, you'd be surprised how much Mythland politics are involved in that side of the holiday."
>
> Magweed wasn't so sure she would be. "What is it Poppa always says about politics, Griff?"
>
> Her brother cocked his head to the side. "Well... it's kind of this muffled, moaning sound..." he answered. "Although Sir Mumphrey tends to use phrases with various combinations of "bloody", "bounders" and "right sound thrashing" mixed with more colorful bits we're not supposed to repeat."
>
> "Well, same thing here... only with politicians that are ageless, and so likely even more stubborn and crooked" Zebulon reasoned. "It's like this... Magic isn't supposed to work outside of Faerie any more... at least not the kind of magic that we're talking about. Most of the Fey magic that's still in the modern world is either there by special dispensation of the Queene , or is the work of renegades and exiles. In short, Santa has to be licensed to run his North Pole workshop, with unionized elfin labor and all magic imported through Mythland trade agreements."
>
> "Okay" Magweed nodded, following so far.
>
> "The problem is that the mortal realms aren't too popular in Faerie court right now... What with all that trouble with the Parody Master, the general consensus is that we should be stockpiling all of our magic in case of future invasion, and not exporting it in a money-losing venture to bring toys to a world full of people that don't believe in us any more. Some of the loudest voices on the Queene's council are the Isolationists. If they get their way, Santa would be cut off. No more oats to make the reindeer fly. No more time-displacement sleigh." He sighed. "No more fairy dust for dreamy elves to sprinkle..."
>
> "Dreamy elves?" Griffin asked.
>
> "Er... what?" Zebulon replied. "Did I say that last part out loud?"
>
> "Yes" Magweed confirmed absently, chewing on her lip as she considered things. "So how do we help?"
>
> "Well, that's simple..." Zebulon said, puffing up his chest. "We go into the dreams of the Isolationists and we try to talk them out of voting to recall Santa at the next council meeting!" He smiled triumphantly. "Santa gets to stay in business, the children of the world get their secular Christmas traditions, and the very hard-working and deserving elves don't lose their jobs and get reassigned to miserable desk assignments in remote kingdoms where I'll... er, few will ever see them again." He gestured hesitantly as he continued walking. "Okay, so maybe the Isolationists weren't willing to hear my arguments when I approached them on my own before... but you're a Fairy Princess! They'll have to grant you an audience! And really, politicians are all about the quid pro quo ... they really just want to cut off contact with the mortal realm because it isn't benefiting their districts in any way. But if we can add a little pork to the trade agreement for them, I'm sure they'll come around."
>
> "They can't find pigs to eat in the Mythlands?" Maggie asked, feeling a bit lost now.
>
> "Wait a minute..." Griffin interjected. "Santa sent you on a mission to bribe the Queene's council?"
>
> "Er... well... not exactly. I'm more of an independently concerned citizen. And bribe is an ugly word... It's really more of a negotiation."
>
> "And the Queene of Faerie..." the feathered twin continued shrewdly, "She's going to be okay with Maggie of all people trying to influence her closest advisers?"
>
> "Ah... um..." Zebulon hemmed, tugging at his collar. "That's where things might get a bit delicate..."
>
>
>
> to be continued
>
>

>





Rhiannon



Posted with Microsoft Internet Explorer 6 on Windows XP

>
[Previously: Cinderbelle the Christmas Fairy and Dancer are roaming through people’s dreams trying to track Cindy’s accidental husband Zebulon the Elf, who has “borrowed” Cindy’s dream-stalking fairy dust. Dancer is just pleased it’s not her with the accidental husband for once.]
>
> [The Scene: Smoke is everywhere. Mighty warriors lay sprawled across the landscape, their once-mighty bodies now gory ruins. Small fires burn in the smouldering wreckage of the hall.]
>
> Cinderbelle, with a gasp: What happened here? Some kind of terrible battle?
>
> Dancer, sniffing a fallen warrior’s breath: A party, I’m guessing. Maximum quaffing. Although in Ausgard it’s kind of difficult to tell the difference between a really good party and a small war sometimes.
>
> Cinderbelle: We’re in Ausgard, legendary home of the legendary Ausgardian Gods?
>
> Dancer: Yep. And can I say that was really good exposition narrative you managed there, working vital plot information into the situation without seeming to lecture the readers.
>
> Cinderbelle: We’re in a man’s dream, aren’t we? Look at the proportions of those women. Nobody could really have physiques like those and still be able to stand upright.
>
> Dancer: Um, those are valkyries, and they really look like that. I think they have super-strength for the standing part of their duties. I know for a fact that Brunhilde can strangle a man to death with her bare thighs. There’s a waiting list.
>
> Cinderbelle: So we’re in the dreams of the Legionnaire Donar, right? You think that sneaky sonofahag Zebulon might have hidden out here with my stolen pixie dust? And what have I just trodden in?
>
> Dancer: Well, it’s from inside a god, so it might be kind of sacred. Take comfort in that. I know I’m taking comfort from the fact that you’re not wearing my shoes any more.
>
> Cinderbelle: What are we wearing? Aaagh! Cold iron! Cold iron chainmail and cold iron… eggcups?
>
> Dancer: The secret is not to flex your arms upwards too much. It really hurts if you get your nipples caught between the links. Also, it can be embarrassing having to ask the rest of the cast for help to get them loose.
>
> Cinderbelle: Fairies can’t wear cold iron. We have an allergy! Get it off me!
>
> Dancer: You really might want to reconsider that here in the Hall of Quaffing. Some of the not-quite-passed-out warriors could misunderstand. And what would your husband think then?
>
> Cinderbelle: He is not my husband in anything but a strictly accidental sense of the word. One minute that damn Zebulon’s all “have another ambrosia”, the next we’re jumping over the broom and under the buffet table. If I ever find out who spiked the punch with reindeer pee I’m going to send the tooth fairy round with a big bag of sixpences.
>
> Dancer: I don’t see Zebulon round here. We might want to get away before the ogres arrive. And the really big goat carts.
>
> Cinderbelle: Ogres? Goat carts?
>
> Dancer: Well, Donar tends to have a fairly limited list of enthusiasms. Be glad we’ve not run into any Vampire Slayers or Warrior Princesses.
>
> Cinderbelle: Zebulon? Are you hiding out here, you no-good double-crossing orc-breathed good-for-nothing? When I find you you’re going to pay for dragging me through this lurid dreamscape with the smelly hairy warriors draped over the weapons of mass destruction and for stealing my bag of pixie dust when I had a specially heavy night of naughty and nice-ing to get on with and for that whole sequence with the clockwork Snoopys where you… er, never mind.
>
> Dancer, intrigued: Don’t mind me. Carry on. But I think you’re wrong about Donar’s dream though. Look past the smelly hairy warriors and see the rest of it. See the sunrise, breaking over the fresh clean land? The birdsong? The way the light shimmers off the water and the way every lintel is so carefully carved? If only you see past the obvious traits that every man can’t help but have because they’re basically men, there’s a whole lot of other stuff they try so hard to hide.
>
> Cinderbelle, looking round the Hall of All-Quaffing: I don’t see them hiding very much right now. Especially that guy who’s passed out sprawled hanging from the tusks of that huge stuffed pig thing on the wall.
>
> Dancer: What I’m saying is you might want to give Zebulon a second look. I mean sure he’s an obsessive gadget-ridden fabulist with the emotional maturity of a teabag, but… that’s men. If you were only to…
>
> Sound effect: Crashhhh!!!!!!!!!!
>
> Dancer: And queue the ogres, stage left.
>
> Cinderbelle: Ogres? We have to run! Eep!
>
> Dancer: Nah, don’t worry. Remember who’s dream this is. These are just temporary ogres, for sure. Transient ogres. Momentary ogres. [Behind her the ogres are mugged by a Warrior Princess and a Vampire Slayer]
>
> Cinderbelle: It’s pretty clear that Zebulon’s not here. We’d better move on. I need to get out of these eggcups before I need audience participation.
>
> Dancer: No problem. I think that’s another Legionnaire dream I see wafting past right now isn’t it? Let’s take the plunge. And hope that somebody else writes something to catch us. Geronimo!!!!
>
> Continued by some kind person. By tomorrow.
>
>
> Original concepts, characters, and situations copyright © 2007 reserved by Sarah Shepherdson. Other Parodyverse characters copyright © 2007 to their creators. The use of characters and situations reminiscent of other popular works do not constitute a challenge to the copyrights or trademarks of those works. The right of Sarah Shepherdson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved.

>
>
>






CrazySugarFreakBoy!


Member Since: Sun Jan 04, 2004
Posts: 1,235

Posted with Microsoft Internet Explorer 7 on Windows XP






Visionary



Posted with Mozilla Firefox 2.0.0.11 on Windows XP

> >

> >
> > "So then we're not really saving Christmas then, are we?" the fairy princess Magweed asked as the three of them tromped through the crusty snowpack. Despite the fact that she was wearing only her bedclothes (an oversized flannel nightshirt, leggings and big, fuzzy, purple slippers--plus a long striped scarf which Zebulon had offered her from his pack,) she was surprisingly comfortable in the harsh environment. She did, however, wrap her arms about her body and tuck in her hands in deference to the impressive dreamland glacial landscape, which she wouldn't want to offend by taking for granted.
> >
> > "Well, okay... maybe not the holiday..." Zebulon the elf conceded, his arms held out from his body to keep his balance on the slick surface. "I know that it's not something that's celebrated in the Mythlands , so you'll have to believe me when I tell you that the more secular legends and trappings of it are still a big deal in the mortal world. In fact, the North Pole operation is the only aspect of Faerie that that parents still teach their children to believe in. Well, okay... maybe the whole tooth collecting operation too... but don't you find that kind of creepy? I mean, sneaking into children's bedrooms and paying them off for a discarded body part? Ghoulish, I say. Santa, he only sneaks into the house once a year... and not into anyone's bedroom. Those tabloid rumors have no basis in fact, I'll have you know... Paris is so not his type. Now, Mrs. Fields the cookie Mogul... maybe I could see him getting tempted. But he's a one-woman jolly old elf, I assure you..."
> >
> > "Why are we walking?" Griffin grumbled, his talons crunching the frozen tundra. "If this is my dream, we so should be flying. I'm sure I could get airborne carrying the two of you... I just need to run downhill a bit to pick up speed..."
> >
> > Zebulon snorted. "I'll pass, thanks... I heard about your last flight. Word is there's still an imprint of your face in the beach."
> >
> > Griffin's feathered head shot up. "You... heard about that?"
> >
> > The elf shrugged modestly. "I, um... have an in with elfin intelligence. Those naughty and nice lists are very thorough, with the whole "sees you when you're sleeping... knows when you're awake..." thing."
> >
> > The beaked boy nodded and rolled his eyes. "Yeah... and the Tooth Fairy is the creepy operation"
> >
> > "Hmmmph" Zebulon replied. "In any event, we're just using your dream to keep the three of us together while we travel northward through the dreams of other people. It's really the quickest way to the North Pole and the gate to the Mythlands there."
> >
> > The lion/eagle/boy looked around him. "This isn't my dream any more? Then whose is it?"
> >
> > "That guy's" the elf noted, pointing to an ice fisherman hunched over a small hole in the surface of a frozen lake. He was struggling mightily with the line as something gargantuan took his bait. "Murry Felderman of Edmonton, Alberta. Nice guy... has this dream every night, but never lands the fish."
> >
> > Magweed waved a polite hello to the man, but he never looked up from his catch. She glanced instead to their tiny elfin guide "Why do you keep looking behind us?" she asked curiously, looking back herself. "Are you expecting someone to follow us?"
> >
> > "Er... no reason. Of course I'm not" the elf flushed guiltily. "I'm on a perfectly valid mission to save Christmas."
> >
> > "Secular Christmas" Griffin reminded him.
> >
> > "Right" Zebulon agreed. "No reason to encourage angry letter writers" he added cryptically. "Anyway, you'd be surprised how much Mythland politics are involved in that side of the holiday."
> >
> > Magweed wasn't so sure she would be. "What is it Poppa always says about politics, Griff?"
> >
> > Her brother cocked his head to the side. "Well... it's kind of this muffled, moaning sound..." he answered. "Although Sir Mumphrey tends to use phrases with various combinations of "bloody", "bounders" and "right sound thrashing" mixed with more colorful bits we're not supposed to repeat."
> >
> > "Well, same thing here... only with politicians that are ageless, and so likely even more stubborn and crooked" Zebulon reasoned. "It's like this... Magic isn't supposed to work outside of Faerie any more... at least not the kind of magic that we're talking about. Most of the Fey magic that's still in the modern world is either there by special dispensation of the Queene , or is the work of renegades and exiles. In short, Santa has to be licensed to run his North Pole workshop, with unionized elfin labor and all magic imported through Mythland trade agreements."
> >
> > "Okay" Magweed nodded, following so far.
> >
> > "The problem is that the mortal realms aren't too popular in Faerie court right now... What with all that trouble with the Parody Master, the general consensus is that we should be stockpiling all of our magic in case of future invasion, and not exporting it in a money-losing venture to bring toys to a world full of people that don't believe in us any more. Some of the loudest voices on the Queene's council are the Isolationists. If they get their way, Santa would be cut off. No more oats to make the reindeer fly. No more time-displacement sleigh." He sighed. "No more fairy dust for dreamy elves to sprinkle..."
> >
> > "Dreamy elves?" Griffin asked.
> >
> > "Er... what?" Zebulon replied. "Did I say that last part out loud?"
> >
> > "Yes" Magweed confirmed absently, chewing on her lip as she considered things. "So how do we help?"
> >
> > "Well, that's simple..." Zebulon said, puffing up his chest. "We go into the dreams of the Isolationists and we try to talk them out of voting to recall Santa at the next council meeting!" He smiled triumphantly. "Santa gets to stay in business, the children of the world get their secular Christmas traditions, and the very hard-working and deserving elves don't lose their jobs and get reassigned to miserable desk assignments in remote kingdoms where I'll... er, few will ever see them again." He gestured hesitantly as he continued walking. "Okay, so maybe the Isolationists weren't willing to hear my arguments when I approached them on my own before... but you're a Fairy Princess! They'll have to grant you an audience! And really, politicians are all about the quid pro quo ... they really just want to cut off contact with the mortal realm because it isn't benefiting their districts in any way. But if we can add a little pork to the trade agreement for them, I'm sure they'll come around."
> >
> > "They can't find pigs to eat in the Mythlands?" Maggie asked, feeling a bit lost now.
> >
> > "Wait a minute..." Griffin interjected. "Santa sent you on a mission to bribe the Queene's council?"
> >
> > "Er... well... not exactly. I'm more of an independently concerned citizen. And bribe is an ugly word... It's really more of a negotiation."
> >
> > "And the Queene of Faerie..." the feathered twin continued shrewdly, "She's going to be okay with Maggie of all people trying to influence her closest advisers?"
> >
> > "Ah... um..." Zebulon hemmed, tugging at his collar. "That's where things might get a bit delicate..."
> >
> >
> >
> > to be continued
> >
> >

> >





Visionary



Posted with Mozilla Firefox 2.0.0.11 on Windows XP

>





Al B. Harper



Posted with Microsoft Internet Explorer 6 on Windows XP

>
[Previously: Cinderbelle the Christmas Fairy and Dancer are roaming through people’s dreams trying to track Cindy’s accidental husband Zebulon the Elf, who has “borrowed” Cindy’s dream-stalking fairy dust. Dancer is just pleased it’s not her with the accidental husband for once.]
>
> [The Scene: Smoke is everywhere. Mighty warriors lay sprawled across the landscape, their once-mighty bodies now gory ruins. Small fires burn in the smouldering wreckage of the hall.]
>
> Cinderbelle, with a gasp: What happened here? Some kind of terrible battle?
>
> Dancer, sniffing a fallen warrior’s breath: A party, I’m guessing. Maximum quaffing. Although in Ausgard it’s kind of difficult to tell the difference between a really good party and a small war sometimes.
>
> Cinderbelle: We’re in Ausgard, legendary home of the legendary Ausgardian Gods?
>
> Dancer: Yep. And can I say that was really good exposition narrative you managed there, working vital plot information into the situation without seeming to lecture the readers.
>
> Cinderbelle: We’re in a man’s dream, aren’t we? Look at the proportions of those women. Nobody could really have physiques like those and still be able to stand upright.
>
> Dancer: Um, those are valkyries, and they really look like that. I think they have super-strength for the standing part of their duties. I know for a fact that Brunhilde can strangle a man to death with her bare thighs. There’s a waiting list.
>
> Cinderbelle: So we’re in the dreams of the Legionnaire Donar, right? You think that sneaky sonofahag Zebulon might have hidden out here with my stolen pixie dust? And what have I just trodden in?
>
> Dancer: Well, it’s from inside a god, so it might be kind of sacred. Take comfort in that. I know I’m taking comfort from the fact that you’re not wearing my shoes any more.
>
> Cinderbelle: What are we wearing? Aaagh! Cold iron! Cold iron chainmail and cold iron… eggcups?
>
> Dancer: The secret is not to flex your arms upwards too much. It really hurts if you get your nipples caught between the links. Also, it can be embarrassing having to ask the rest of the cast for help to get them loose.
>
> Cinderbelle: Fairies can’t wear cold iron. We have an allergy! Get it off me!
>
> Dancer: You really might want to reconsider that here in the Hall of Quaffing. Some of the not-quite-passed-out warriors could misunderstand. And what would your husband think then?
>
> Cinderbelle: He is not my husband in anything but a strictly accidental sense of the word. One minute that damn Zebulon’s all “have another ambrosia”, the next we’re jumping over the broom and under the buffet table. If I ever find out who spiked the punch with reindeer pee I’m going to send the tooth fairy round with a big bag of sixpences.
>
> Dancer: I don’t see Zebulon round here. We might want to get away before the ogres arrive. And the really big goat carts.
>
> Cinderbelle: Ogres? Goat carts?
>
> Dancer: Well, Donar tends to have a fairly limited list of enthusiasms. Be glad we’ve not run into any Vampire Slayers or Warrior Princesses.
>
> Cinderbelle: Zebulon? Are you hiding out here, you no-good double-crossing orc-breathed good-for-nothing? When I find you you’re going to pay for dragging me through this lurid dreamscape with the smelly hairy warriors draped over the weapons of mass destruction and for stealing my bag of pixie dust when I had a specially heavy night of naughty and nice-ing to get on with and for that whole sequence with the clockwork Snoopys where you… er, never mind.
>
> Dancer, intrigued: Don’t mind me. Carry on. But I think you’re wrong about Donar’s dream though. Look past the smelly hairy warriors and see the rest of it. See the sunrise, breaking over the fresh clean land? The birdsong? The way the light shimmers off the water and the way every lintel is so carefully carved? If only you see past the obvious traits that every man can’t help but have because they’re basically men, there’s a whole lot of other stuff they try so hard to hide.
>
> Cinderbelle, looking round the Hall of All-Quaffing: I don’t see them hiding very much right now. Especially that guy who’s passed out sprawled hanging from the tusks of that huge stuffed pig thing on the wall.
>
> Dancer: What I’m saying is you might want to give Zebulon a second look. I mean sure he’s an obsessive gadget-ridden fabulist with the emotional maturity of a teabag, but… that’s men. If you were only to…
>
> Sound effect: Crashhhh!!!!!!!!!!
>
> Dancer: And queue the ogres, stage left.
>
> Cinderbelle: Ogres? We have to run! Eep!
>
> Dancer: Nah, don’t worry. Remember who’s dream this is. These are just temporary ogres, for sure. Transient ogres. Momentary ogres. [Behind her the ogres are mugged by a Warrior Princess and a Vampire Slayer]
>
> Cinderbelle: It’s pretty clear that Zebulon’s not here. We’d better move on. I need to get out of these eggcups before I need audience participation.
>
> Dancer: No problem. I think that’s another Legionnaire dream I see wafting past right now isn’t it? Let’s take the plunge. And hope that somebody else writes something to catch us. Geronimo!!!!
>
> Continued by some kind person. By tomorrow.
>
>
> Original concepts, characters, and situations copyright © 2007 reserved by Sarah Shepherdson. Other Parodyverse characters copyright © 2007 to their creators. The use of characters and situations reminiscent of other popular works do not constitute a challenge to the copyrights or trademarks of those works. The right of Sarah Shepherdson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved.

>
>
>






Al B. Harper



Posted with Microsoft Internet Explorer 6 on Windows XP

>

>
> "So then we're not really saving Christmas then, are we?" the fairy princess Magweed asked as the three of them tromped through the crusty snowpack. Despite the fact that she was wearing only her bedclothes (an oversized flannel nightshirt, leggings and big, fuzzy, purple slippers--plus a long striped scarf which Zebulon had offered her from his pack,) she was surprisingly comfortable in the harsh environment. She did, however, wrap her arms about her body and tuck in her hands in deference to the impressive dreamland glacial landscape, which she wouldn't want to offend by taking for granted.
>
> "Well, okay... maybe not the holiday..." Zebulon the elf conceded, his arms held out from his body to keep his balance on the slick surface. "I know that it's not something that's celebrated in the Mythlands , so you'll have to believe me when I tell you that the more secular legends and trappings of it are still a big deal in the mortal world. In fact, the North Pole operation is the only aspect of Faerie that that parents still teach their children to believe in. Well, okay... maybe the whole tooth collecting operation too... but don't you find that kind of creepy? I mean, sneaking into children's bedrooms and paying them off for a discarded body part? Ghoulish, I say. Santa, he only sneaks into the house once a year... and not into anyone's bedroom. Those tabloid rumors have no basis in fact, I'll have you know... Paris is so not his type. Now, Mrs. Fields the cookie Mogul... maybe I could see him getting tempted. But he's a one-woman jolly old elf, I assure you..."
>
> "Why are we walking?" Griffin grumbled, his talons crunching the frozen tundra. "If this is my dream, we so should be flying. I'm sure I could get airborne carrying the two of you... I just need to run downhill a bit to pick up speed..."
>
> Zebulon snorted. "I'll pass, thanks... I heard about your last flight. Word is there's still an imprint of your face in the beach."
>
> Griffin's feathered head shot up. "You... heard about that?"
>
> The elf shrugged modestly. "I, um... have an in with elfin intelligence. Those naughty and nice lists are very thorough, with the whole "sees you when you're sleeping... knows when you're awake..." thing."
>
> The beaked boy nodded and rolled his eyes. "Yeah... and the Tooth Fairy is the creepy operation"
>
> "Hmmmph" Zebulon replied. "In any event, we're just using your dream to keep the three of us together while we travel northward through the dreams of other people. It's really the quickest way to the North Pole and the gate to the Mythlands there."
>
> The lion/eagle/boy looked around him. "This isn't my dream any more? Then whose is it?"
>
> "That guy's" the elf noted, pointing to an ice fisherman hunched over a small hole in the surface of a frozen lake. He was struggling mightily with the line as something gargantuan took his bait. "Murry Felderman of Edmonton, Alberta. Nice guy... has this dream every night, but never lands the fish."
>
> Magweed waved a polite hello to the man, but he never looked up from his catch. She glanced instead to their tiny elfin guide "Why do you keep looking behind us?" she asked curiously, looking back herself. "Are you expecting someone to follow us?"
>
> "Er... no reason. Of course I'm not" the elf flushed guiltily. "I'm on a perfectly valid mission to save Christmas."
>
> "Secular Christmas" Griffin reminded him.
>
> "Right" Zebulon agreed. "No reason to encourage angry letter writers" he added cryptically. "Anyway, you'd be surprised how much Mythland politics are involved in that side of the holiday."
>
> Magweed wasn't so sure she would be. "What is it Poppa always says about politics, Griff?"
>
> Her brother cocked his head to the side. "Well... it's kind of this muffled, moaning sound..." he answered. "Although Sir Mumphrey tends to use phrases with various combinations of "bloody", "bounders" and "right sound thrashing" mixed with more colorful bits we're not supposed to repeat."
>
> "Well, same thing here... only with politicians that are ageless, and so likely even more stubborn and crooked" Zebulon reasoned. "It's like this... Magic isn't supposed to work outside of Faerie any more... at least not the kind of magic that we're talking about. Most of the Fey magic that's still in the modern world is either there by special dispensation of the Queene , or is the work of renegades and exiles. In short, Santa has to be licensed to run his North Pole workshop, with unionized elfin labor and all magic imported through Mythland trade agreements."
>
> "Okay" Magweed nodded, following so far.
>
> "The problem is that the mortal realms aren't too popular in Faerie court right now... What with all that trouble with the Parody Master, the general consensus is that we should be stockpiling all of our magic in case of future invasion, and not exporting it in a money-losing venture to bring toys to a world full of people that don't believe in us any more. Some of the loudest voices on the Queene's council are the Isolationists. If they get their way, Santa would be cut off. No more oats to make the reindeer fly. No more time-displacement sleigh." He sighed. "No more fairy dust for dreamy elves to sprinkle..."
>
> "Dreamy elves?" Griffin asked.
>
> "Er... what?" Zebulon replied. "Did I say that last part out loud?"
>
> "Yes" Magweed confirmed absently, chewing on her lip as she considered things. "So how do we help?"
>
> "Well, that's simple..." Zebulon said, puffing up his chest. "We go into the dreams of the Isolationists and we try to talk them out of voting to recall Santa at the next council meeting!" He smiled triumphantly. "Santa gets to stay in business, the children of the world get their secular Christmas traditions, and the very hard-working and deserving elves don't lose their jobs and get reassigned to miserable desk assignments in remote kingdoms where I'll... er, few will ever see them again." He gestured hesitantly as he continued walking. "Okay, so maybe the Isolationists weren't willing to hear my arguments when I approached them on my own before... but you're a Fairy Princess! They'll have to grant you an audience! And really, politicians are all about the quid pro quo ... they really just want to cut off contact with the mortal realm because it isn't benefiting their districts in any way. But if we can add a little pork to the trade agreement for them, I'm sure they'll come around."
>
> "They can't find pigs to eat in the Mythlands?" Maggie asked, feeling a bit lost now.
>
> "Wait a minute..." Griffin interjected. "Santa sent you on a mission to bribe the Queene's council?"
>
> "Er... well... not exactly. I'm more of an independently concerned citizen. And bribe is an ugly word... It's really more of a negotiation."
>
> "And the Queene of Faerie..." the feathered twin continued shrewdly, "She's going to be okay with Maggie of all people trying to influence her closest advisers?"
>
> "Ah... um..." Zebulon hemmed, tugging at his collar. "That's where things might get a bit delicate..."
>
>
>
> to be continued
>
>

>





Al B. Harper



Posted with Microsoft Internet Explorer 6 on Windows XP



The Princess and the Great North Star: Chapter Five “Go Al B. Harper, Go!”


The Hockenheimring, just outside of the town of Hokenheim, Baden-Württemberg, Germany, and home to the German Formula One Grand Prix.

Today it bares witness to a rather unusual race between just two cars. It is a race to determine who will be the next world champion! It is also a day of good versus evil, of money and wealth versus pure determination and a never-say-die attitude. Everything Hollywood would love.

Brock Brockson is the reigning world champion. The car he is casually leaning against is completely black except for the red logo of the Bland Corporation on its sides. It is the best car in its class that money can buy, which makes it the best in the world. Brock bares a striking resemblance to Dominic Clancy.

Al B. Harper is the current world number two. His car, while not as sophisticated as the multimillion dollar Bland vehicle, makes up for it through the individual modifications that Harper and his pit crew (led by able first mechanic Amy Aston) have introduced. It is all white except for a stylish blue racing stripe running the length of its sides.

There are two bikini clad women preparing to wave the checkered flag. One is a splitting image of Miss Muffy Framlicker, Al B.’s real-life business partner and former fiancé. The other is the splitting image of Kinki the Conqueress, time-travelling megalomaniac and the real-life mother of Al B’s two children.

Dancer turns to her companion, the fairy Cinderbelle, and says, rather dryly, “Well, of all the scenarios for Al B. to be dreaming of, this wasn’t one of my guesses.”

Al B. casually walks over to Brockson, extending a hand, “well, good luck…may the best man win.”

Brockson spits in the direction of Al B.’s feet. “Time to lose…loser.”

There are titters and giggles from Brockson’s crew as he jumps into his car.

Al B. shrugs and walks back to his own car, dubbed “Yuki II”.

Dancer turns to Cinderbelle. “Quick! We’ve got to get over there before they start!

They rush over to Al B., “Al, Al B. Harper! STOP!”

Al B. was about to get into his car but he turns at the calling of his name and recognises the woman calling him “Sarah Shepherdson, the pretty waitress with a heart of gold from the Bean n’ Donut. What are you doing here, and why are you naked?”

Dancer looks down at herself. “Eek! What happened to the chainmail!?” She grabs one of the checkered flags and wraps it around herself, well, as much as she can, which isn’t much.

Al B. looks at her again, “Oh wait, you’re not Sarah, I know you, you’re Dancer! How do I know that?”

“Because this is just a dream, and we need your help to find Zebulon!” replies Cinderbelle rather agitatedly.

“Zebulon…the elf? Wait, how do I know that?” Al B. asks.

Dancer grabs both of Al’s shoulders. “Al, we need to know, have you seen Zebulon in this dream?”

Al B. looks rather crestfallen. “A dream you say? Then…I won’t really be racing Mr Epitome, I mean Brock, and facing off his nefarious tricks like wheel spikes and oil slicks in order to win the day and deliver the message that a winning smile and honest attitude are all it takes to win the girl?...And…why are you naked again?”

Dancer looks down at herself. “Eek!” She picks up the flag which had dropped when she had both her hands on Al B’s shoulders and ties her best to cover her self with it once more.

“Right, well it doesn’t look like that thieving no-good is in this dream.” Cinderbelle states rather abruptly.

“Oh, boyfriend troubles?” Al B. innocently asks.

“He is NOT my boyfriend!” Cinderbelle replies with a look that could kill.

Dancer giggles, “Anyway, Al B. we need to find Zeb so Cindy here can get her fairy mojo back. We think he’s in one of the Legionnaire’s dreams. Want to help?”

Al B. looks at the two women. “Sure what the heck, it’s not like this dream is weird enough, jump in we can take my car.”

The two women jump in as Al B. revs the engine, puts his foot to the floor and the car screeches off before jumping through a fairy portal into the next dream.

“Oh no Harper,” shouts the nefarious Brock Brockson. “You don’t get away that easily!” He floors it on his own car which makes it through the portal just before it closes with a “POP”



to be continued







Al B. Harper



Posted with Microsoft Internet Explorer 6 on Windows XP

Brock Brockson is played by Kimi Raikkonen:



Al B. Harper is played by Lewis Hamilton:

Dancer is played by Angelina Jolie:





CrazySugarFreakBoy!


Member Since: Sun Jan 04, 2004
Posts: 1,235

Posted with Microsoft Internet Explorer 7 on Windows XP






Visionary



Posted with Mozilla Firefox 2.0.0.11 on Windows XP


Heh... Well, I don't know who you hired to do costuming on this dream sequence, but one has to admire their minimalist approach. I'd actually quite enjoy a series of Al racing the high stakes motor circuit with his pit crew. Perhaps he needs to star in a sequel of sorts to the Transworld Challenge.

Excellent job on continuing the story! I look forward to seeing where the group ends up next...






Visionary     



Posted with Mozilla Firefox 2.0.0.11 on Windows XP


But after seeing "Beowulf" in digital 3-D, I'm sure Angelina is up for the part as described in the dream. ;-P




Visionary



Posted with Mozilla Firefox 2.0.0.11 on Windows XP

> >

> >
> > "So then we're not really saving Christmas then, are we?" the fairy princess Magweed asked as the three of them tromped through the crusty snowpack. Despite the fact that she was wearing only her bedclothes (an oversized flannel nightshirt, leggings and big, fuzzy, purple slippers--plus a long striped scarf which Zebulon had offered her from his pack,) she was surprisingly comfortable in the harsh environment. She did, however, wrap her arms about her body and tuck in her hands in deference to the impressive dreamland glacial landscape, which she wouldn't want to offend by taking for granted.
> >
> > "Well, okay... maybe not the holiday..." Zebulon the elf conceded, his arms held out from his body to keep his balance on the slick surface. "I know that it's not something that's celebrated in the Mythlands , so you'll have to believe me when I tell you that the more secular legends and trappings of it are still a big deal in the mortal world. In fact, the North Pole operation is the only aspect of Faerie that that parents still teach their children to believe in. Well, okay... maybe the whole tooth collecting operation too... but don't you find that kind of creepy? I mean, sneaking into children's bedrooms and paying them off for a discarded body part? Ghoulish, I say. Santa, he only sneaks into the house once a year... and not into anyone's bedroom. Those tabloid rumors have no basis in fact, I'll have you know... Paris is so not his type. Now, Mrs. Fields the cookie Mogul... maybe I could see him getting tempted. But he's a one-woman jolly old elf, I assure you..."
> >
> > "Why are we walking?" Griffin grumbled, his talons crunching the frozen tundra. "If this is my dream, we so should be flying. I'm sure I could get airborne carrying the two of you... I just need to run downhill a bit to pick up speed..."
> >
> > Zebulon snorted. "I'll pass, thanks... I heard about your last flight. Word is there's still an imprint of your face in the beach."
> >
> > Griffin's feathered head shot up. "You... heard about that?"
> >
> > The elf shrugged modestly. "I, um... have an in with elfin intelligence. Those naughty and nice lists are very thorough, with the whole "sees you when you're sleeping... knows when you're awake..." thing."
> >
> > The beaked boy nodded and rolled his eyes. "Yeah... and the Tooth Fairy is the creepy operation"
> >
> > "Hmmmph" Zebulon replied. "In any event, we're just using your dream to keep the three of us together while we travel northward through the dreams of other people. It's really the quickest way to the North Pole and the gate to the Mythlands there."
> >
> > The lion/eagle/boy looked around him. "This isn't my dream any more? Then whose is it?"
> >
> > "That guy's" the elf noted, pointing to an ice fisherman hunched over a small hole in the surface of a frozen lake. He was struggling mightily with the line as something gargantuan took his bait. "Murry Felderman of Edmonton, Alberta. Nice guy... has this dream every night, but never lands the fish."
> >
> > Magweed waved a polite hello to the man, but he never looked up from his catch. She glanced instead to their tiny elfin guide "Why do you keep looking behind us?" she asked curiously, looking back herself. "Are you expecting someone to follow us?"
> >
> > "Er... no reason. Of course I'm not" the elf flushed guiltily. "I'm on a perfectly valid mission to save Christmas."
> >
> > "Secular Christmas" Griffin reminded him.
> >
> > "Right" Zebulon agreed. "No reason to encourage angry letter writers" he added cryptically. "Anyway, you'd be surprised how much Mythland politics are involved in that side of the holiday."
> >
> > Magweed wasn't so sure she would be. "What is it Poppa always says about politics, Griff?"
> >
> > Her brother cocked his head to the side. "Well... it's kind of this muffled, moaning sound..." he answered. "Although Sir Mumphrey tends to use phrases with various combinations of "bloody", "bounders" and "right sound thrashing" mixed with more colorful bits we're not supposed to repeat."
> >
> > "Well, same thing here... only with politicians that are ageless, and so likely even more stubborn and crooked" Zebulon reasoned. "It's like this... Magic isn't supposed to work outside of Faerie any more... at least not the kind of magic that we're talking about. Most of the Fey magic that's still in the modern world is either there by special dispensation of the Queene , or is the work of renegades and exiles. In short, Santa has to be licensed to run his North Pole workshop, with unionized elfin labor and all magic imported through Mythland trade agreements."
> >
> > "Okay" Magweed nodded, following so far.
> >
> > "The problem is that the mortal realms aren't too popular in Faerie court right now... What with all that trouble with the Parody Master, the general consensus is that we should be stockpiling all of our magic in case of future invasion, and not exporting it in a money-losing venture to bring toys to a world full of people that don't believe in us any more. Some of the loudest voices on the Queene's council are the Isolationists. If they get their way, Santa would be cut off. No more oats to make the reindeer fly. No more time-displacement sleigh." He sighed. "No more fairy dust for dreamy elves to sprinkle..."
> >
> > "Dreamy elves?" Griffin asked.
> >
> > "Er... what?" Zebulon replied. "Did I say that last part out loud?"
> >
> > "Yes" Magweed confirmed absently, chewing on her lip as she considered things. "So how do we help?"
> >
> > "Well, that's simple..." Zebulon said, puffing up his chest. "We go into the dreams of the Isolationists and we try to talk them out of voting to recall Santa at the next council meeting!" He smiled triumphantly. "Santa gets to stay in business, the children of the world get their secular Christmas traditions, and the very hard-working and deserving elves don't lose their jobs and get reassigned to miserable desk assignments in remote kingdoms where I'll... er, few will ever see them again." He gestured hesitantly as he continued walking. "Okay, so maybe the Isolationists weren't willing to hear my arguments when I approached them on my own before... but you're a Fairy Princess! They'll have to grant you an audience! And really, politicians are all about the quid pro quo ... they really just want to cut off contact with the mortal realm because it isn't benefiting their districts in any way. But if we can add a little pork to the trade agreement for them, I'm sure they'll come around."
> >
> > "They can't find pigs to eat in the Mythlands?" Maggie asked, feeling a bit lost now.
> >
> > "Wait a minute..." Griffin interjected. "Santa sent you on a mission to bribe the Queene's council?"
> >
> > "Er... well... not exactly. I'm more of an independently concerned citizen. And bribe is an ugly word... It's really more of a negotiation."
> >
> > "And the Queene of Faerie..." the feathered twin continued shrewdly, "She's going to be okay with Maggie of all people trying to influence her closest advisers?"
> >
> > "Ah... um..." Zebulon hemmed, tugging at his collar. "That's where things might get a bit delicate..."
> >
> >
> >
> > to be continued
> >
> >

> >





Al B. Harper



Posted with Microsoft Internet Explorer 6 on Windows XP

>
> But after seeing "Beowulf" in digital 3-D, I'm sure Angelina is up for the part as described in the dream. ;-P

Oo, I haven't seen it yet. Any good?

Al B.




Al B. Harper



Posted with Microsoft Internet Explorer 6 on Windows XP

>
>
>






Al B. Harper



Posted with Microsoft Internet Explorer 6 on Windows XP

>
> Heh... Well, I don't know who you hired to do costuming on this dream sequence, but one has to admire their minimalist approach.

Dude, that's your sister we're talking about.

> I'd actually quite enjoy a series of Al racing the high stakes motor circuit with his pit crew. Perhaps he needs to star in a sequel of sorts to the Transworld Challenge.

Interesting.

> Excellent job on continuing the story! I look forward to seeing where the group ends up next...

As do I...

Al B.




Anime Jason 

Owner

Location: Here
Member Since: Sun Sep 12, 2004
Posts: 2,834


anime.mangacool.net (10.0.255.1)
using Apple Safari 3.0.4 on MacOS X (0 points)





Al B. Harper



Posted with Microsoft Internet Explorer 6 on Windows XP

>





1 2 3  >> All

On Topic™ © 2003-2024 Powermad Software