Previous Post [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.

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.