When Nall spices and Jordan’s 13-Alarm Ungstiri Chili meet, the result is a dream of bizarre proportions for Orandius Jaxx, Emissary Head of the Mystics…
From the familiar confines of the Fool’s Pride bunk module and a deep, uneasy sleep, Jaxx suddenly finds himself rudely awakened in:
A swirling, rather nebulous region, where is anyone’s guess. Occasionally the odd incandescent bubble drifts up amongst the many color swirls and pops gently, releasing tiny little piglets with wings that merrily flit about, as well as miniature Harleys revving hellfire and brimstone, also be-winged. Louder rumbles herald the approach of larger Harleys, oftentimes pillioned by chunky porkers in leather, sunglasses, and sometimes, flower-child clothing. Pink elephants of all size, winged, cherubic and kazoo-bearing, float about in humble servant capacity for the slightest wish or whim.
A crow of a man with disconcerting sunken eyes of indeterminate color, they always seem to gleam. Tall, with the gaunt, pale features of a scavenger, he wears tunic and trousers of coarse black cloth. The trousers are folded under where the right leg ends below the knee. A tattoo of barbed wire encircles his left eye and loops around his shaved head, trailing down his left cheek and around his neck. He wears big glittery pink sunglasses and a blue feather boa. His biker boot is sprouting with rhino tusks. He’s wearing a big crimson fez and a Groucho Marx plastic nose and mustache…and a Karl Marx faux beard.
Vampire perches atop a massive Harley Davidson motorcycle, revving the engine madly and smoking a cartoonishly huge stogey.
Vampire takes off his big pink glittery sunglasses long enough to wink suggestively at Jaxx, then slips them back on again. “Evenin’, sunshine.” He smooches at Jaxx.
Jaxx blinks once, then again. He sits up.
Vampire pats the generous seat space behind him on the motorcycle seat. “Hop on, sweetcheeks. We’re goin’ to town.”
Jaxx sighs softly. “Anything to get me riding your hog, eh Corpse?” He moves towards the motorcycle.
Vampire wiggles his hairless brows. “Ohhh, baby.” He makes an oinking noise.
Vampire smirks cheesily. “C’mon, board-up-the-butt-boy! We ain’t got all night.”
Jaxx straddles the motorcycle. “Onward,” he directs.”
Vampire shakes his head. “Nope. Not till you put those spindly arms of yours around my waist.” Again, the oinking.
Vampire revs the motorcycle engine, which growls throatily.
Jaxx says, “Once more, I am a victim of circumstance.” He places his arms around Vampire’s waist. “There– fantasy made reality.”
A tiny Harley flaps it’s wings as it’s engine roars to life and propels itself past Vampire and Jaxx.
Vampire shivers. “Damn…” He touches the accelerator, and the motorcycle begins to spin like a centrifuge gone mad.
Vampire begins to contort into strange tattooed pretzel shapes as the motorcycle whirls about. “Must…have hit…wrong button…”
Jaxx , in the midst of this, inquires, “Is that a pink elephant?”
Vampire struggles to reach with a sort of pseudopod that might once have been a hand for a globule of spinning motorcycle that *might* be a button of some kind. “Or are you just glad to see me?”
Another tiny Harley pulls up alongside Vampire and Jaxx, it’s miniature rider snarling at the two beside him. “Hey! You hit the wrong button!” He laughs rudely and pulls away from the two.
The giant Hog slows from its freakish centrifugal spin and comes to rest facing toward a massive guppy that has appeared out of nowhere – mouth opening and closing largely, revealing a tunnel.
A large, hefty pink elephant flaps its massive way over to Jaxx and Vampire. “M’dears, is there anything, anything at all I can help you with?” it burbles, solemnly flapping large drafts of chocolate scented air onto the pair.
Jaxx mutters, “This is the last time I eat Jordan’s ’13 Alarm’ chili.”
Vampire readjusts his head, which has settled in a rather backward and very unnatural position, after giving Jaxx a quick smooch.
Jaxx’s mouth does its best attempt to invert itself in reply to the smooch. Vampire, it seems, isn’t his type.
Vampire giggles oinkingly, revs the engine, and the motorcycle oinkoinks its way into the mouth of the guppy. (No, it doesn’t sound as biblically impressive as “the belly of the whale” but you can just cope).
A tiny Harley revs its impressive large way beside Vampire, the rider smirking, and zooms through with a throaty roar.
A trio of winged pink elephants in tutus flies past, performing a graceful aerial ballet.
Jaxx mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like ‘Swan Lake’, then yells over the growl(oink?) of the Hog to Vampire, “What’s in the fish?”
Vampire waggles an impossibly long, Salvador Dali-warped finger. “The fuuuuuutuuuuuuure.”
A single elephant floats droopily along. “I coulda been a contenda…he had ta pick that odda kid…Dum…”
A large gray elephant holding a feather in its trunk and wearing a clown hats that hits a tiny mouse in a ring leaders uniform flys by….oh wait wrong set of elephants.
A large hog in a witches outfit flies past on a broomstick, cackling, “I’ll get you my pretty, and your little HOG too….”
Jaxx’s eyes bug out a bit, “My future is pink elephants and motorcycles?”
Two large slugs cut across Vampire and Jaxx’s line of travel, one on the bannana seat of a green harley, the other in the sidecar. “Hey! Look at the mystic! Let’s all get picture! Picture!” They both scream. “Pictures picture pictures!” A strobe effect, blindingly so, so an automatic camera goes off and the pair of slimy beings wave. “Thank you Mystic! We’ve got pictures!” And then they’re gone again.
Vampire’s hyperextended finger tickles the throat of the guppy, which speaks echoingly: “Oh, my dear goodness, I’ve got a hog in my throat.” And it begins to hack and wheeze, and then spurts the Harley with Jaxx and Vampire out of its mouth on a big wave of yellow simu-sputum (TM), and the motorcycle comes to rest near Yama Nels of the Future.
Jaxx says, with a look of looks that borders on screaming terror…”Oh no.”
Vampire bellows in true John Housemanesque fashion: “See what you have wrought, Orandius Jaxx…and weeep!”
The hardwood panels all bear signs of crayon-based destruction at two feet and below. Besdies that, the office of The Emperor-President is resplendant in it’s finery. The rich desk is adorned with a bedraggled Yama Nels, shuffling through a rolodex as a little runt ruffles through his desk,. Children are scattered throughout the room, an itinerant Teel chasing after. Several of the vermin sit slack-jawed as a blue sweater-clad Thug portrays the hourly “Mr. Fagin’s Neighborhood”
Jaxx says, “Surely not I.”
Vampire chomps on his stogey and waggles his hairless brows. “Of course it was you. And don’t call me Shirley. Wakkawakkaoinkoink.”
The man before you stands a little over six feet tall, with a strong posture. His high cheekbones and roman nose contradicting with a pale, almost Eurasian complexion are the most prominent features on his sleek face. His hair is sharp and crisp wisps, portruding spikily from his forehead
A faint line can be seen running about his neck,nothing more. His other startling feature are two, furry Demarian arms that seem to have replaced his arms of birth. A checkerboard of purple and gold adorns his right arm, while the other is striped in green and turquoise.
Yama is draped in the formal garbs of the President-Emperor of the Imperial Consortium. They hang loosely over his frame, masive sleeves opening like gaping maws. The vermillion and orange colors clash and war over terrain, arcing in lengths over the fabric. He nearly seems to trip over the expansive hem, the tail end dragging along the carpet. The hood is slung back loosely behind his head.
This Ungstiri woman is quite matronly. Round-cheeked, slightly plump, and very pregnant, she is about 5’5″. Her jet black hair is long and braided into a ponytail that falls down to her ankles, and her blue eyes sparkle with joy. She waddles about with a sweet, cheery disposition and a kind word for everyone she meets. Right now, her gravid form is clad in a blue and white checked gingham dress, with a white lace apron tied over it. Simple black flats are on her feet.
One of the little brats shrills, “MOMMEEEEEE!!!! MUFFIN TOOK MY PICKLE!!!” and throws crayons bad temperedly at Yama, screaming, “BAD DADDY! BAD!”
Teel waddles as fast as she can after various rugrats. “Gervaise, I’ve told you time and time again, Daddy needs to work, stay out of that…Muffin, away from the trophies. Vivian, Ashleigh, stop fighting! Horatio, stop placing bets on the fight!”
Yama swings ineffectually at one of the runts crawling on the desk. “Lyndon, no! That button causes the destruction of the Senate!” A hesitant look crosses his face as he shoves the child edgeward.
Jaxx says, “How could this possibly be /my/ fault? Though their impending horror of a reproduction has much plagued me, /this/? /This/ is /my/ fault?”
Vampire makes a smoochy face at Jaxx, then goes back to watching the sideshow.
Teel wistfully looks at her loving mate, her long hair swinging behind her. “Maybe I should take them home, Snookums?”
Yama hefts the child, sprinting towards Teel. He shovers Lyndon into her arms, trying to wipe away applesauce stains from the robe’s collar. An errant peck lands on Teel’s nose, as he explains. “Heaven forbid, my little lejune! It’ time they learned the functions of government. Sides, you know what the Kretonians are charging for maid service these days?”
Another little bratling promptly clambers up onto the table and scatters a massive load of papers all over. “KITTY KITTY!” she shrieks and burrows into one of the drawers, causing an avalanche of chips, disks and all manner of implements.
Jaxx says, “Damn it all, why’d he have to be so fertile?”
Vampire smirks. “And lithe.”
Teel whines, “Yama Junior, you get out of that desk this instant!”
Yama’s ears beeps rapidly. “/Another/ Nall invasion! Bugger all! Yama Millhous Nels the Second, you get out of the CBC briefings _THIS INSTANT!”
Yama catches a wandering Ashleigh, wiping off sauce from his round, pallid cheeks with his cuff.
Yama Milhous Nels the second, who just happens to be female, flails a chocolate covered fist at another pudge with the words ‘Dilly’ scrolled over a horrific bright purple t-shirt. “But I waaaaaaaaaaaaaant kiiiitty!” she screams.
Vampire sighs happily. “Warms the cockles, don’t it, Jaxxy boy?”
Teel is about to follow, when she gets an odd look on her face. “Oh…Sugaryams…the triplets…” She puts a hand on her belly. “I’m going into labor.”
Jaxx says, “Yes. A rush of bile will do that.”
Vampire oopses. “You don’t wanna watch the miracle of more childbirth, do ya, Jaxxinator?”
Yama gasps. “Mkwambe, Ignacius and Cromwell! Summon the midwives!”
Jaxx says, “I think that that might be more than my psyche could bear…”
Vampire revs the engine, pops a wheelie, and sends the Harley zooming forth – it plunges through the wall of the office, which ripples like water – and splashes like it too. A fish flaps in Jaxx’s teeth as they emerge somewhere new…the Remy LeBeau and Sister Esther of the future…
Yama braces Teel’s legs as the scene(hopefully) dissolves around them.
Vampire screeches to a dripping halt.
A fish falls from the Vampire’s shoulder and flops lazily on the ground before disappearing with a *pffft!* and a cloud of smoke shaped like a mushroom cloud.
A scene of absolute and total chaos meets the eye – this appears to be a massively large room totally dedicated to complex physics equations and tons and tons and TONS of childish scrawls all over the walls. A rake-thin woman with silvery hair that now reaches almost to her ankles, dressed in a Madonna-like outfit and large clunky black leather boots, is scribbling madly away at a paper-covered table. “Remy!” she calls desperately. “Where’s Torlinus again? He’s eaten my last equation!”
Before you stands a humanoid male, he appears to be in his mid-thirties. He stands just over 2 meters and looks to weight around 230 pounds.His Hair is a red-brown mix with bit of grey creeping in over his ears and in small streaks in other places.His eyes are compleatly black with nothing more then a red spot in the middle where the pupil would be. There are small line at the edges of his eyes and at the corners of his mouth. He wears a gray business suit with a badge hanging out of the breast pocket with reads…’Santuary Unified States Diplomat.’
Jaxx settles into a sort of resigned slump behind Vampire on the bike. “What a smashing diplomat he makes,” he says with a sigh.
The fish in Jaxx’s mouth flops out onto his lap as he speaks.
LeBeau scans the large crowd of redhaired children, which all have silver streaks “I don e’en remember which on Torlinus es hon, afder da firs dozen da all stard to look alike”
“One of us is named Torlinus?” Asks a small girl innocently, looking around at her siblings in confusion.
Jaxx plucks up the fish, gesturing to the children. “How’s this possible? Shohobians and Lunites cannot breed.
A fish walks past with a sign reading ‘NO MORE HOOKS;DOWN WITH FISHERMEN’
One little redhead pipes up. “Dad one ees Torlinus, Papa.” He points to a twin.
LeBeau shurgs as he looks down at her “Dats wha yer mommy tinks…yer Marie righ?”
Jaxx frowns at the fish in his hand, as though noticing for the first time what he’s gesturing with. He lobs it at the sign of the protesting fish.
Vampire glances back toward Jaxx, one eye filling a giant sunglass lens and spiraling hypnotically. “Forget what you know…”
LeBeau yells out above all the jabbering and whineing “Ok which e’er one o yu es Torlinus will yu cough up yer moms work. Yu know how upsed she geds when she misplaces a decimal poin
The fish with the sign get struck with the other fish and both disappear in a mushroom cloud.
A pink elephant, clad in purple, green, and yellow, does loop the loops. “Laissez les bon temps rouler, oui?”
Suddenly a ruckus breaks out as about 12 little Mysticlets charge up the stairs. “It’s MY win!” declares a ferocious looking little one about 8 years of age. “NUH-UH da’ ids nod!” declares another as the pack hassle and fight all the way into the study.
A sad clown blumbers past, pausing to pout at Jaxx.
Another fish appears with a sign reading ‘FISH KILLER’. It begins prancing back and forth near Jaxx and Vamp.
Vampire speaks in a booming voice: “We’re going to need a bigger bike!”
Jaxx pouts in reply to the clown, saying, “Je trouves mon coeur.”
And, as if by magic, VAVOOM! RARARARUMBLE!, the Harley doubles in size.
Jaxx makes a little strangled noise as his legs are abruptly jerked further apart.
LeBeau is about to call out to Esther as he has salvaged what he could of her equation from the child’s mouth when the gang come roaring in and he sighs “Pierre, Jaques, Franco, Rondeau, an who e’er da res o yu ar…how many times hav I tol yu aboud reading each oders mins to cead ad yer games
Another clown walks past, holding a sign. “STILL WAITING FOR GODOT”
Yet another clown walks, his feet on the ceiling, his head at about Jaxx level. He carries a sign that reads: WILL WORK FOR SELTZER WATER.
A cow walks by on two feet, udders hanging lazily above the ground. It, too, holds a sign: Milk. Do you really need it?!
A clown car arrives and runs down the clowns. A crazed ringmaster leans out screaming bloody murder.
Karl Marx – nude-chinned and rather miffed-looking – stomps onto the scene, clambers up the massive motorcycle, and tugs at Vampire’s smoke gray beard, crying, “Das is mein! Das is mein!” Vampire kicks the communist propagandist upside the head with a rhino-horn adorned boot, sending Marx sprawling among the fishes.
“Did nod fader, bu’ Mimi is ceadin’,” declares one of the broodlings.
“Bud Pierre don’ hav dad cahd and..” Says another broodling before he nods quickly in response to the one who has just spoken. “Whad he said!”
A turban-clad guppy flushes by, grabbing the piqued Karl down into his spiral. “BOURGOSIE!” Is all he burbled before being sucked down the wind of bubbles
A lazy big Budweiser toad drifts down by the clown who is waiting for Godot. “URP,” it states eloquently, then, “Tray bong. Tray tray tray bong.”
Vampire glances back toward Jaxx, his beard askew. No, really. His beard has turned into Rueben Askew. The beard – Askew – asks you, well, you being Jaxx: “Seen enough?”
LeBeau shakes his head and plops down on the floor “Don yu hav to go meditade o read o some prophies aboud now. An where es Fagin wid da res o does baby sidders?”
Esther rises in a cloud of fishnet and pointy bra and gathers up children in each hand. “24 of these, Remy an’ you can’t even remember their names!” she scolds with a sigh.
Jaxx nods, “I think so. You know, you’ve overturned the Communist model in one fell swoop.” He gestures to the fallen Marx.
Vampire hrms. “I never thought he was all that pretty…” With that, he revs the Harley and speeds forth into Hog Heaven once more…”
LeBeau looks up at Esther “Hey I was beggin yu to stop ad twelve, yu jus waned to keep going”
A chameleon pulls out a big friggin’ cannon and assassinates the Budweiser frog. “At last! The job is mine…”
“Wickiwicki,” snicks the weasel.
Jaxx says, “It’s more about the clothes than the man.”
Vampire sighs wistfully. “Ain’t that the ever lovin’ truth…”
Vampire is now tooling down a long lonely stretch of desert road in Hog Heaven. But, of course, no stretch of road in Hog Heaven is REALLY that lonely. Ok, so the roads here DO buy Victoria’s Secret catalogs…but they aren’t lonely in the other sense…
A motercycle cop rides up along side Jaxx and Vampire and holds up a picture to them asking, “Have you seen this boy, his name is John Connor?”
Vampire glances down at the cop and says, “No, but if you hum a few bars, I can…wait, that doesn’t work.”
The Ungstiri rowboat team strokes up beside Vampire and Jaxx. ‘Nice wheels.” They says before pulling away, leaving the muscle bike in their wake. “Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!”
Arnold Schwarzenegger follows along behind the cop on a Harley with a shotgun. “It is not a tuuma.”
Vampire calls over his shoulder. “Ok, Jaxx old man, now you’ve reaaaaally gotta see this. You’re gonna love it. Dig it, sugar.” He snaps his fingers and the motorcycle comes to rest in a virtual trailer park.
A sudden lazy whirling of a parasol drifts closer and closer. A large penguin, upon which rides a neon-green Neh’Ne, chirrs, “Wha’ mah huney chile…yo’s got’n yer knicker inna twis’…”
The cop looks back at Arnold “I’ll be back….wait thats your line.” He then reves up and with a squeel of tires heads off
Arnold rides off after him yelling, “Come with me if you want to die!”
Jaxx glances around the trailer park, “Why are we here?” he inquires.
Tumbleweeds go drifting past. “Just wait, Mystic Boy. You’ll see.”
One of the tumbleweeds comes back. A spotlight shines on it. “I just rolled in from Albequerque, and boy are my thistles tired!”
It looks like – no, it IS – Space Mountain at Disney World. All at once, a sudden loud *KABLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM* shakes the entire trailer park, sending several large tutu’d rabbits fleeing. “Ugh knew I’d be late for that date if I stayed here!” quips one with large pink ears.
The tumbleweed rolls out of harm’s way, calling out, “I’ll be in town about five more minutes, then I’m off to Tuscon. Tip your waitress! Good niiiiight!” And away it goes.
A cop car pulls up and a Camera crew and SWAT team jump out and raid one of the more run down trailers. After a few minutes a man holding a beer and not wearing a shirt is pulled out and placed in the car. Strange thing his face was pixelated.
As if this wasn’t enough, several Mystics start running down the mountainside. Young Mystics. Several of them have red hair, and one of the red-haired ones is holding a large keg.
Bad reggae music plays in the background as the man is carted away.
A mullet-bearing cheerleader, bedecked in purple and black, snickers at the incoming Mystics. “Brad hasn’t been the same since he quit the DQ for his vision quest.”
Next on Fox: COPS in OtherSpace…
Jaxx says, “The effect of Terran culture on the Mystics…Of course…Oh, this must be stopped. I cannot allow this to come to pass!”
ZOOM IN on a pair of Zangali hooligans breaking open a shop window on Sanctuary and stealing a toaster oven.
One of the non redheads says to the keg bearing one, “Boudreau LeBeau, we are in trouble now!”
A couple of the residents look at their broken watches and rush to a cellar just in time to avoid the weekly tornado that rushes thru and destroys most of the trailer park.
CUT TO a pair of doughnut munching Demarian coppers in bobby hats, carrying nightsticks, humming “Bad Boys, Bad Boys” when they hear the alarm sound. They act surprised, and NEARLY drop their cruellers.
TRACKING SHOT as the Demarian cops chase after the Zangali hooligans and the hot toaster oven. No, really, it’s hot. Glowing red, cooking something even as we speak. Smells like bran muffins. “Hey, you scaleheads!” calls one of the fat cats. “Hold it right there. Don’t make me throw my stick at you!”
Jaxx’s eyes narrow…”Hold on a minute…Trailer park. LeBeau. Where’s Rondeau LeBeau?”
Vampire blinks lazily, his eyes fixed on the holovision display of COPS: OtherSpace.
CLOSE UP of one Demarian cop making the ultimate sacrifice. He realizes that the only way to stop the hooligans is to pull the pin on his explosive crueller and toss it. A single tear tracks down his furry cheek.
Suddenly a petite, rounded figure in a cook’s hat waving a massive spatula comes barreling out the Mountain, yelling, “BOUDREAU LEBEAU you hoopin’ nincompoopish TOOP! Y’gone an’ blown up th’damn KITCHEN again fer the 7th time this week!”
A severe, rather plump woman with bright blue hair and horn rimmed tortoishell glasses dressed in the garb of a cook. In one hand she holds a large spatula. She also is wearing a most awfully bright orange dress that clashes horribly with her hair, and stiletto boots.
The Mystics with the redhead holding the keg give a screech. “OH NO IT’S MRS. JAXX RUN!!!” And they flee.
MEDIUM SHOT of the out of breath Demarian yanking the frosting-covered pin and then, huffing, tossing the pastry at the hooligans. It explodes, taking out the Zangali *and* the toaster oven. The other cop gets to the carnage, pops open the oven and sniffs. “Hey,” he says, “muffins are done!”
Vampire glances up at the scene. “Ah, Sha…”
Jaxx blinks at the petite, rounded figure. “Oh. My.”
Another of the Mystics, who along with the other Red headed ones all look like part of LeBeau’s brood run thru the trailer park kicking up a dust storm “Dad es no gonna like dis sis, yu know how up sed he ged when Mistress Sha calls hem up to tell aboud how yu blew up da kitchen by o’er spiceing da food”
A flightly female Mystic rushes in after the orange clad woman. “Oh dear dear me…I thought I told them to stay out of the kitchen.”
N’Sha-El charges after her errant brood, waving after the fleeing rascals a massively huge can of pepper. “BOUDREAU!
All at once, Vampire’s Harley begins to cough and splutter. The man, along with the Harley, begins to shrink until suddenly, with a poof and a little flap of guppy wings, the apparition materializes into – Rondeau LeBeau.
Jaxx , abruptly sitting on the ground, frowns up at Rondaeu. “Somehow, I know this is all your fault.”
The amazing Rondeau, as young and boomboom chick as ever, is bursting out of a bottle green leather version of the full motorcycle gear – jacket, pants, boots, and a cute little hat. “Aw, how you gonna say dad to your ride?” She snaps her fingers, and a large green Cadillac convertible appears, complete with horns on the grille.
Jaxx rises. “Pardon me, miss. I’d mistaken you for an abomination against nature.” He moves towards the passenger’s door.
An abomination of nature walks past the Cadillac and cries.
Jaxx says, soothingly, “I did say I was /mistaken/, dear lady.”
Rondeau’s green eyes glow. “Ah’m boud as natural as dey ged, Jaxxy hunny.” She winks and settles into the driver’s seat.
Suddenly, a group of 12 creatures that appear like birthday candles appear, each holding spears. Their heads are lit. “The time has come, Brother Jaxx, for you to endure the Rite of Coming Of Age. You will come with us to the ceremonial arena.”
About at this time, Space Mountain goes KABLOOOM again and a shriek of human distress from Sha echoes over the entire place. “KIP STOP PLAYING METALLICA!” And then the entire mountain turns into a big lemon pie and drops into Rondeau’s lap.
Rondeau cackles like a witch. “Hop on in, boys! I’ll ged us dere in no time.”
Jaxx , just closing the Cadillac’s door, lifts his brows at the candles. “Why twelve?” he inquires aloud.
The Birthdayonians file into the back seat one by one. They yell “ONWARD TO THE RITE!!” together.
One pipes up, “Sorry, the other 13 couldn’t make it. Bad wick day.”
The Green Demon, aka Rondeau, slams on the gas, as the car rumbles down the road and into the air, to the sound of zydeco music.
Another agrees. “I hate when that happens.”
Right about now, a large, purple-winged green-eyed cat upon which sits a 26 year old Kip with a large bass guitar and flaming green hair, flaps lazily over the car. “Rock on baby!” he yells with a thumbs up at Rondeau. “Go go Rite!” And off he sails.
Jaxx reclines his seat slightly. “Let’s ride,” he says.
“Sounds good to me.” One of the birthday candelesque creatures agrees. “Let’s drive, momma!”
Rondeau takes the dessert off her lap and hands it over to Jaxx. “Want some pie?” She gives him a very Vampire-esque leer.
One of the B’dayonians’ flame goes out on the top of its head as thecar speeds up. It reaches up in worry but the wick sparkles back to life and it sighs and grins “Trick wick”
The tormented Jaxx shakes his head, “No, no. I’ve had enough sweetness for the evening.”
A big mouth appears and spits the wick out again. “Dagnabbit! It took me days to get that lit.”
Again the wick sparkles back to life a few seconds later
Rondeau emits a booming, oinking laugh, and sends the car into a few spirals and loops, the speed growing…
Beside the car suddenly appear a little wafting bunch of little slugs, green, slurbly and wrinkled. “Shpeshiment! Shpeshiment!” one of them chants waving a tiny little stick-like arm at Jaxx and the B’dayonians wickedly. “Anshient One! Shpe–” A moment later a large guppy floats by in pink and orangitude, gobbles up the slugs and passes through to flop on top of one of the candles.
The arena appears ahead. In the center is a small pedestal.
Jaxx squints at the pedestal in the distance. “Curious,” he says.
One of the candles taps Rondeau on the shoulder “Call ahead, tell the rest to prepare for the sacrifice.”
Jaxx says, “Sacrifice? Hmm. That sounds disagreeable.”
Rondeau is suddenly dressed like the Mad Hatter, but all in green. “Mais oui.” She honks the horn, three times, then yells, “PREPARE FOR DA SACRIFICE!!!!”
Jaxx , frowning, tries the door.
The candles run for a long wooden chest. They open it, and pull out a 1′ x 1′ x 30′ board. “ALL BOW TO THE AWESOME BOARD OF REAR-ENDING” They place it on the ground and begin worshiping it.
The green Cadillac goes into a deep spiral over the arena.
Resplendent in bright green robes and a March Hare costume descends Balthazar, riding on a large pink porker. “Brother Orandius. You have come at last,” he greets with a steeple of his fingers and a slight smile.
As the candles worship the board they begin to chant “Thanks you sir may I have another…thanks you sir may I have another….thanks you sir may I have another…”
The car lands, and litterally spits Jaxx out, onto the sand.
Jaxx lands with a pleasant ‘wuff’.
Somewhere, Neal Avocet cocks his head to one side and responds with a “Wuff” of his own.
Jaxx sits up, “Brother Balthazar, how utterly expected to find you here.
Balthazar permits himself yet another tight smile as he lands majestically on his porker and signals for one of the B’dayonians to come and help him dismount. “Indeed, I am glad that you have not lost your Mystic sense,” he comments. “Ahh. The Board.”
The candles all kneel. “The board has been properly blessed, your eyeness. It is ready.”
Jaxx’s brows lift anew. “You’re going to sacrifice the board of rear-ending?”
Rondeau lights and smokes a big stogie, stepping out of the way. “Ah love id when a plan comes togedder,” she smirks.
Balthazar smiles blandly as he sets into place one of his large floppy costume ears and the March Hare’s hat. A small green slug dangles from the other ear and a stogie like Rondeau’s abruptly pops into the side of his mouth. For a moment, Vampire’s face, like the Cheshire Cat’s, winks into view to leer at Jaxx. “Oinkie oinkie!” he smirks and disappears till there’s nothing left of him but a grin.
Jaxx’s gaze slides to the board. “You were a good board. I knew you very briefly. Go with my blessing.”
Balthazar flips back a loosely dangling paw of the March Hare costume. “Bring me the Board,” he intones stentorianly. “Brother Orandius. Bend over.”
Jaxx’s brows shoot up. “You’re off your rocker.”
The candles salute and bring the board to Balthazar.
The sound of rubber gloves snapping into place echoes thru the arena.
Rondeau speaks, in a rather non-Ronny voice. “No, he’s off his porker, sweetie. Now be a good boy and do what the man says, stick-up-the-butt.”
Balthazar inclines his head to Ronny-turned-Vampire and gestures to the B’dayonians. “Bring Brother Orandius,” he says. “Brother Orandius you have been chosen to be the recipient of Wisdom, the path of which must come through this Rite. Now. Bend over.”
The candles surround Jaxx and point their spears at him. “You must go through the Rite!!”
Jaxx, with great resignation, hauls himself to his feet. Closing his eyes and muttering something about corporal punishment, he bends over.
Again, the sound of rubber gloves snapping into place echoes thru the arena
Balthazar solemnly raises the large 1’x1’x30 board. “Brother Orandius. In the name of the B’dayonians, I now bestow upon you the Gift of Wisdom in form of the Blessed Board of Rear-Ending.” With that he swings it down and whacks Jaxx firmly on the butt.
Jaxx flies through the air, and lands in…
The familiar confines of the Fool’s Pride bunk module – and like as not, wakes up in a very cold sweat.