"The Princess and the Great North Star Part Twelve"





Dancer and Cinderbelle found themselves in another dream, crouched behind several large crates, "I wonder whose head we're in this time?" Sarah Shepherdson queried.



"Someone with a fondness for heavy ordnance," her elven companion, taking note of the TOW Missiles stamped on the boxes, opined.



The two women poked their heads up in search for more clues. They saw that they were in a warehouse decorated for the holidays, but with a most macabre touch.



"Razor sharp candy canes and icicles, boughs of poison sumac, Styrofoam snowmen looking like pin cushions with all the knives sticking out of them, blinking bulbs of black and red bathing everything in a Mephistophelean glow," Cinderbelle shuddered, "Someone is being very naughty."



"I agree," the Heroine of Happenstance looked at the nine mounted reindeer heads hung above, eyes wide, tongues lolling, as if they were sent to the taxidermist in mid bleat, "Let's hope Zebulon didn't come through here. I doubt he would have made it out alive."



Voices from another part of the chamber caught the pair's attention. Stealthily, they made their way past the grove of brown and rust colored Christmas trees to a unique gathering. It was led by a tall man with a sallow green complexion and hair as greasy and black as a rotten banana. He smiled a crooked smile and engaged the throng.



"HOO HOO HOO! What a gathering! What a ga-ther-ing! All these bad little girls and boys here to make my holiday wishes come true!"



"You got it, Mister F!" a lithe woman in a harlequin mask and antlers chimed in, bouncing up to the raised dais where the speaker stood.



"Yeeesssss, thank you, Max," the man said dismissively.



"Uh, its Mary."



"What-evvvvver," and with a PUNT!, Mary Prankster found herself cast into a model snow bank made from spray-painted attic insulation.



"Excuse me, Mister, uh, Fruitcake, sir," one of the men wearing a matching brown sweatshirt and watch cap raised an arm, "What's da job exactly?"





Fruitcake, the Jaundiced Jester, broke into even a wider grin, "We're going to assassinate every department store and Salvation Army Santa Claus in the twin cities! HEH HEH HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHHHHHH!!! Just imagine the looks on all those children's faces when they see that jolly old elf blowwwwwwed up real good right before their very eyes!"



"Just imagine the therapy those brats will need!! All those thousands and thousands of billable hours!" Mary poked out of the drift and greedily wrung her hands, "Ka-CHING!"



"What-evvvvver!" Fruitcake hefted a heavy sack and dropped it off the stage and onto Mary's head, "Pass out the maps and the timetables to the gents, Max."



"This is not good," Dancer said to her travelling companion as the villain in the modified straitjacket handed out the assignments for Fruitcake's gang.



"Just remember, this is only a dream," Cinderbelle whispered back, "the only people who can get hurt here are us."



Shep nodded, "Even so, somebody should do something."



And then, as if on cue, scraping could be heard from above.



"What is that on the rooftop? Reindeer paws?!" the Clown Prince of Curmudgeoness demanded as he withdrew a pistol from his great coat.



It was in fact not, but rather a man dressed in nickelous chain mail from his soles to his top, prying open the skylight so in he could drop. He carried a shield ringed with white stars, and a countenance as ferocious as the Roman god Mars.



"Fruitcake," the man shouted to the thug with the leer, "Your spree is over, for the SILVER AEGIS is here!"



To Be Concluded, with no rhyming, a lot of fighting, and a shocking revelation! Out soon.