Dorothy: Locked and Loaded

D:L&L (part 111 - Elphaba) -- Bits and Pieces

2012-02-10T05:15:00.000-08:00

As soon as she stepped into the little room, she could feel him. Black on black, but outlined clearly, the little Bunny stood stock still in front of the book stand, waiting.

Elphaba smiled, her heart leaping at the sight of the tiny creature, the Keeper of the Book, and the keeper of her heart and soul. He'd waited for how long? She didn't yet know. The passage of time had gone on like an endless dream, and her children could tell her nothing - they had been lost far long than her. All she knew was that Vaughn was back, that the book was back, and the time had come for the final incantation that would make her whole again. She had everything she needed.

"Vaughn," she whispered.

She stepped forward, pulling the little tik tok man behind her, their fingers intertwined. He came willingly and as silently as he could, click-clacking on the stone floor. She'd explained what she'd needed from him, and he'd only nodded, his metallic face frozen in what almost seemed to be a grin, but she knew better. Grommetik could no more grin or express emotion physically than this creature could; perhaps she was simply seeing something that wasn't there. Or perhaps she was imagining something that actually was there. Perhaps the smile was there on the inside, felt rather than expressed, and yet it seemed to have manifested itself on the outside.

They stopped in front of the round dais where the Bunny waited, and she smiled again. "My dear little one. Vaughn, I've missed you."

"I have waited for you, Mistress," he said, his black eyes shifting up to look at her, studying her face. "You've been gone a long time."

"Have I?"

"You've changed."

"Indeed." The mirror she'd seen had revealed her narrow face, dark eyes and hair, sharp chin, but these things, while familiar, were also shocking. She'd stared at the broken glass, trying to remember what she'd looked like on the day she had been murdered, knowing that her skin and hair were the same, but at the same time very different. The spell had never specified if there would be any changes, but now she knew there had been. What she'd seen had been startling but ultimately pleasing.

"You are much more beautiful now. So young."

Elphaba nodded. Whatever had happened was inexplicable, but it had left her with a countenance that reminded her of her years of youth in Shiz, far removed from the aging witch she had been in those last few years in Kiamo Ko. "I feel off, strange, incomplete."

"Yes, as you said you would."

"I don't feel like myself. I know this is me, but it doesn't feel like me. It's..." She stared at the little Bunny at her feet, unsure of what to say.

"That's because you aren't all you yet, and you are more than you. If you recall the spell..."

"I don't."

"You knew then what it would take if something were to happen, if you were to fall. You would need more than just yourself to come back."

"Souls. Other souls." The words came without her knowledge, as if someone else was speaking through her lips, a hushed voice that she barely heard.

"Yes, souls. The souls of the wrongfully dead, souls of the unwilling whose lives would be extinguished by injustice and cruelty. Vengeful souls howling in pain. They have sought you out for all these years, a patchwork off tiny sparks building into a being that had once existed and who could return and bring them justice and honor. But you are still missing one thing, the thing you left here, Mistress, for me to guard."

"The book."

"Yes, but something more, something more important."

"I don't remember."

"It was a long time ago when you made me, when you left that valuable something here on this dais and told me to guard it until you came back."

"Yes," she said with a sudden frown, a chill creeping up her spine. She remembered. She knew what it was now, the thing he had guarded so closely for her. She looked up at the book, the mighty Grimmerie, laying open, the page she needed opened and ready, and then her eyes fell on the Bunny patiently waiting. "Something I have to have back, dearest Vaughn."

"As you wish, Mistress. It was never mine to keep." The little Bunny spoke flatly, resigned. "I only borrowed it from you until you were ready to return, until you had regained the spark of life."

"True," she said, wondering at what he said. There was no denying it. The Grimmerie had mentioned 'gaining the spark of life', but it had not been explicit, and it was this mystery that had left her floating, lost in the deep darkness of the fortress' dungeons...until she found her children and they began to bring her sparks, to feed her and make her strong.

"How many died to bring me back?" she muttered, thinking now at the moments that the children had come back and fed her. "How many souls were lost so that I might live?"

"You know the answer, Mistress, better than I."

She nodded, a solemn tear rolling down her green cheek. Again, there was no denying it. They had come in droves, stitching her essence into a corporeal body, little more than a corpse. With each spark she grew in strength until she could walk, until she could climb the stone steps out of the depths of the castle and into the fresh air of the parapet, then further still up to the highest tower, where the world opened up before her and she could see a land that she had nearly forgotten. There she waited, searching the world with her eyes, with her ears. How long had been the thing called Usling, the wretch in the tower, more skeleton than woman, barely subsisting on the rodents she found in the dark corners? She'd waited and waited, and with each spark, she felt her strength returning, her connection with the world growing, until finally the metal man had come and brought with him the ax that would bring even more sparks.

"So many. So many." She sighed, falling to her knees. The tears were coming fast and free, and her body responded, shuddering with waves of sorrow. But, it was not over.

"And now you must take another."

She nodded and stared at the Bunny through blurry eyes. He seemed smaller now, more like a toy. The memory was coming back - that moment when the little toy rabbit ceased to exist and her servant had appeared before her. It had taken a mighty piece of magic to do, and it had left her weak and mentally unprepared for the arrival of the party of friends from the Emerald City. Had they really come from the EC to murder her? She would never know for sure, but she could not deny what happened, and it was only the little Bunny before her that had made it possible for her to stand here again, young and vibrant like never before.

"I'm sorry, my little Bunny."

"No, Mistress. Do not be sorry. I will always be here to guard you, to protect you, to be with you."

She smiled, a weak curve across her shadowed face, and reached down to pull the small Bunny to her. She held Vaughn close to her breast, feeling his warmth, the silky smoothness of his fur, and whispered the words that appeared in her mind at the moment, the words she suddenly saw scrawled across the page before her. "In finem."

A moment later, Elphaba, the former Wicked Witch of the West, closed the door of the hidden room behind her and stepped out into the main hall of the once formidable fortress at Kiamo Ko with the tik tok silent behind her. She took a deep breath, feeling whole for the first time in decades, and yet there was a loss there behind her where a little toy rabbit sat in the darkness and guarded a powerful book.

"We have much to do," she said, and the little machine behind her nodded.

D:L&L (part 110 - Scarecrow) -- Fit to Kill

2012-02-08T20:28:00.000-08:00

It was spell time once more. The Wizard Diggs had the Bunnies running around town, picking up whatever it was he needed to get us out of the king’s court and into the witch’s castle. All things being equal, I’d have been better off passed out. My head was an absolute fucking mess. I didn’t have the first clue how to stop any more ‘interventions’, and I wasn’t even sure if Diggs wanted them to stop. I may have in the past been out of my head, but at least it was my own doing – and I invariably ended up back where I started.

It took at least three hours for the Bunnies to collect what Diggs needed. I made use of this time by hunting down some alcohol. So sue me – I don’t care. It was the thought of possibly seeing Elphaba again that was driving me to seek out some sort of solace. If (as the Wizard thought) she was alive – or near enough as to make little difference – then it was highly likely that old wounds would reopen. It was also highly probable that neither of us would make it out alive. If the former Wicked Witch of the West was in possession of the most powerful book on Oz, then not even the Unnamed God could save our world. She would be out for vengeance, no doubt about it. I was beginning to think that our past love wouldn’t be enough to save me. But if there was a chance to communicate with Elphaba, make her see what’s going on and perhaps to ask her help, then it was a risk worth taking.

The only fly in the ointment was the Wizard. If he got control of the book, if he managed to somehow persuade the witch to hand it over to him, then all bets were off. I couldn’t trust him to do the right thing, and there was no way I would let him travel to Kiamo Ko on his own. My other worry was how I would handle this. I knew that from the very beginning I was nothing more than a passenger. Rather than take any type of assertive action, I let others do things for me and to me. Like the good little Scarecrow I was, I allowed folk to shit on my head. As I reached for a bottle I found behind a stack of lettuce heads I knew it was time for me to shine. It was time for the Emperor to come to his own, for Fiyero to reach out to Elphaba – time to claim the throne of Oz once more. But one more drink wouldn’t hurt, right?

I never got to sample Bunnybury hooch, though. No sooner had the neck reached my parched lips than it was knocked out of my grip. An unknown assailant had taken it upon himself to deny me one last pleasure before I met my doom.

‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ a voice called out from my right. I turned and saw one of the king’s warriors; a pretty little Bunny who had been one of my captors back in the court. ‘Oz has gone to shit,’ she continued, ‘that weasel of a no-good wizard has pulled the fur over the king’s eyes; the Wicked Witch of the West isn’t as dead as we first hoped; and here you are, necking down a cool one.’ She hopped over to me and slapped my face hard. ‘And to think you were the Great Straw Hope for Oz.’ She sighed, and try as I might to hide it, I felt a deep shame overcome me. ‘You’re better than this, Scarecrow. You proved it once; you can prove it again.’‘If only it was that simple,’ I said, feeling more than a bit sorry for myself. ‘I’m a useless piece of straw. All I’m good for is soaking.’

The Bunny got a bit closer to me. ‘I know a bit of magic, okay?’ I nodded. ‘And my nose is twitching.’

‘What does the twitching mean? You got an itch?’

‘No, you fool! It tells me that you’re still under some kind of spell.’

I sighed again. ‘I’d be very surprised if I wasn’t it. I’ve been invaded by all kinds recently, and I’m beginning to think that half of what I remember didn’t really happen.’

‘So how do you feel?’

‘Like I said, pretty fucking useless.’

‘That’s how he wants you to feel.’

‘Who – the Wizard?’

‘Who else? To him you’re expendable. If at any time the real you wants to come out and play, he fucks your head up and leaves you right back in the shit. Like now.’

‘I was thinking the same thing myself.’

‘He wants you docile,’ she continued. ‘Then when he has what he wants, he’ll throw you to the dogs…or the Lion. Or maybe even Nick the Chopper. Then he’ll have the book and once he has that, Oz and everywhere he can get to will be his. You can’t let that happen, Fiyero. You have to get into Elphaba’s head and show your true self. It is only then that Oz has a chance.’

I was struck dumb by the Bunny’s skills as a motivational speaker. She nearly had me convinced.

‘Put the bottle away,’ she said bluntly. ‘For good.’ She whispered into my ear. ‘Everything else will fall into place once you do this one thing. I promise you.’

I looked at the Bunny and said, ‘You’re not really here, are you?’ I shook my head, closed my eyes and then opened them again. I was wrong – she was still very much in front of me. But there was still something not right. ‘What is going on with me?’

The Bunny smiled. ‘Fiyero,’ she said softly. ‘Dorothy Gale sends you her love. Like I said, I know some magic.’ She rubbed her twitching nose again my running one. ‘Think of her when you leave for Elphaba’s castle. When you need her, she’ll be there for you.’ Then the Bunny skipped away.

What the fuck just happened?

I gathered my thoughts as quickly as I could and raced back to the king’s court. By the time I got there, the Wizard was nearing the end of his preparations. He saw me and beckoned me over to him.

‘Quickly, Fiyero,’ he said. ‘We’ve not a moment to waste. Here, stand beside me.’ I looked around and saw that we were standing in the middle of a pile of brown and blue leaves. Not knowing what they were exactly I presumed they would be the means we’d be using to follow the scent.

‘Do I need to click my heels?’ I asked him.

‘Not at all,’ Diggs said. I could see his excitement levels reaching boiling point. He quickly mumbled the required spell and then grabbed my arm. ‘You must do exactly as I tell you, once we are in Elphaba’s presence. If you vary just a little bit from my instructions, I will be unable to save the book.’

I took this in, and then added something of my own. ‘Fuck with me, Diggs, and I’ll make sure her monkeys rip your heart out in front of you.’

‘What makes you think she has anyone but a black rabbit to help her?’ His grip tightened. ‘In less time than it takes to fart, we’ll be in Kiamo Ko, Fiyero. Use that time wisely. Pick a side – and say your prayers. There is no coming back now.’

With another quick recitation, the court of King Charles of Bunnybury vanished. We were off to meet Elphaba, however she may appear to us. Today, I thought, was a good a day as any to die.

D: L&L (part 109 - Bunnies) -- Bunnybury: Salvation

2012-01-31T19:41:00.000-08:00

“Time is not on our side, gentlemen,” Cornelly blurted out to the troop.

“But is it safe, Sir?” Asked Fizzle, fear evident in his eyes.

“My boy, nothing is safe anymore. We need to make our move. We are out of supplies. Besides, Bunnybury is depending upon us,” the old Bunny’s ears sagged as he delivered the facts. “Tonight, we storm the castle. We must obtain the mirror. I’m sure it holds the answers. We’ll only have one shot, boys. The palace will be heavily guarded, so we will be on thumpio silence. Shadows, boys… be shadows.”

The futility of the situation was not lost on him. He’d seen the little metal men patrolling the city since the festivities began. There had to be thousands of them. They were obviously well-trained, well-oiled killing machines. At least the Bunnies had speed on their side. Cornelly doubted those little metal legs could gather enough speed to catch one of them.

The troop was silent as they gathered their belongings and threw their packs on their backs. No one spoke as they hopped over the rotting, wooden planks of the crawlspace one last time.

The streets were eerily deserted when the Bunnies crept from the ramshackle, green brick building. “Which way do we go?” Asked Fizzle.

Cornelly unfolded a piece of paper, studied it for a moment, looked to the sky, peered down his whiskers, and squinted his eye, “Uhhh, I don’t know.”

Fizzle turned towards his father, “You don’t know? You have a map right there, and you don’t know?” He twitched his nose and flopped an ear.

“Oh this? This is no map. It’s… it’s umm, none of your business. That’s what it is.” Cornelly folded the paper back up and slid it into the pocket of his leather jacket.

“Well then, I’d say we head towards the brightest lights, wouldn’t you?” Fizzle asked, puzzled by his father’s behavior.

Cornelly looked at his son, then turned his gaze to each of the Bunnies bouncing before him. “Erm, yes. The lights. We’ll head towards the lights. Boys, this is a dangerous mission. We may not survive the coming of the dawn. If we succeed, Bunnybury may just be saved. You are all brave Bunnies, and I admire each of you. There was a time when Bunnies your ages were free to gallivant through the green pastures of the court, nibble on the sweetest carrots, and indulge in the pleasures a young, fertile Bunny should be allowed. Let’s restore our beloved town, boys. Are you with me?”

The troop thumped their hind feet in agreement. They were pumped, with a bing in their bounces and off they went through the empty streets of Oz. The glow of the lights from the palace in the distance guiding them to their destination. Far off they could hear the metallic stomping of tik-tok feet as they hit the cobbled pavement, echoing through the lonesome alleyways.

They silently followed the streets that led to the glorious palace of her Magnificence—the one who left them to rot, to starve—while she basked in the glory of her egotism and luxury.   Cornelly knew if he had the chance, he’d have to take her out. The Bitch had to die.

The journey didn’t seem to take long and before they knew it they were standing at the gates of the largest, most opulent building they’d ever seen. Bunny mouths agape, they stared at the structure looming before them. The bright green glow was hypnotizing.

Cornelly gave the order for them to lay low—one ear up and down. His eyes scanned the vast greenery surrounding the Palace, a plush carpet of the most heavenly smelling, greenest grass any of them had ever seen. The scent was intoxicating… enticing and teasing their hungry bellies. Before any of them could stop him, Juple wandered out to the lawn and began ravishing the delicious blades.

“Juple!! Spit it out!! Don’t eat it!!” Fizzle cried, scurrying after his best friend, but it was too late. Juple’s furry body began convulsing; his ears went rigid along his back, his legs splayed out before him.   Fizzle cradled his friend’s dying body in his paws and stroked his fur. “Oh Juple, nooo. No, Juple!”

Fizzle wept. Juple’s convulsions became small spasms that coursed through him. A thick foamy, pink tinted froth oozed from the dead Bunny’s mouth. Cornelly had warned them all not to eat anything from this city. Wherever the witch walked, the ground was surely tainted, he’d said. And here they were, right at the bitch’s front door… “It’s not fair!!” Fizzle cried into the night.

Cornelly was next to the scene. “Fizzle, keep it down. I know what Juple meant to you, but there isn’t anything more we can do for him. Now come on, boy. Get yourself up. We have a mission.”

“We have a mission, we have a mission—that’s all I hear from you, Dad! I didn’t ask to be part of this mission, Juple only joined because of me. If it weren’t for me he’d be dead.”

“Son, I know you are angry, but if we weren’t here, then there’d be no hope for any of us. ALL Bunnies will die if we do not succeed with our plan. So yes, it’s cold, it’s hard, but it’s fact, Son— we have a mission. I did not put us here. I did not create us, I did not forget us, nor did I leave us to die a cruel death. The White Bitch did, Son. She did this. She killed Juple, and she will kill all of Bunnybury. Now get up, Son. Get up and be a Bun. Juple’s gone, we can’t help him. But know this, she doesn’t care, she loved us and now we are nothing but used up play things to her. Now get up before those tin things come along and find us, then all our efforts will have been in vain.”

Cornelly put his paws on Fizzle’s shoulders, “Come on, Son. We’ll hide his body and then pick it up on our way out so we can bring him home for good. We have to do this, Fizzle.”

Fizzle hesitated, then looked to the Palace. His rage consumed him. She was wrong to create them and then leave them to nothing. She had to pay! Fizzle rose with Juple’s body slung over his shoulder. Fizzle limped across the grassy lawn to a side of the castle. He hid his friend’s body within the shrubbery. “I’ll come back for you, Jupe, I swear,” he whispered quietly as he wiped a tear from his eye. “Let’s do this, Dad.”

“Say together, boys,” Cornelly said in a low tone. They all followed as Cornelly led the way around the structure trying to find a way in. How strange it was that they hadn’t encountered even one of the tik-tok army. They were just well concealed, that had to be why they couldn’t be seen anywhere. “Be on guard, boys. There’s invisible tik-toks lurking everywhere!”

The gang of Bunnies looked around, wide-eyed, searching. Could those metal monsters be that quiet? They slowly made their way to the front of the building. Hiding behind the topiary, stacked like Chinese acrobats, they spied, looking for traps, looking for a way in. “Look, Sir,” a sleek, muscular Bunny said. “The door, it’s open.” He indicated towards the large, open, wooden door with his fuzzy paw.

They all turned and looked.

“Maybe nobody’s home,” said Fizzle.

Cornelly twitched his whiskers. “Maybe so. But if so, then where’d they all go?”

“Who cares, Dad. This is our way in, let’s go.” Fizzle waited for his father’s okay.

Cornelly shrugged his shoulders and proceeded forward. Perhaps this was going to be easy. With a new found confidence, the Bunnies bounded through the opening of the door. Inside, they were all amazed by the lavishness of the marble flooring and the Grande stairway that dominated the room.

“Okay boys, split up. Same things as we did at the Lion’s place; search each room for the mirror. You know what to do.”

Bunnies flitted everywhere, bouncing through every open doorway. Cornelly and Fizzle took the stairs to the second floor landing. Cornelly sniffed the air. He could smell her scent, the flowery fragrance that used to be comforting to him. All of the elders knew that smell. It would waft through Bunnybury when she used to visit them. When she used to love them. He followed his nose into an extravagant bedroom, and there, leaning against a wall was what he sought. The magic mirror. Bunnybury’s salvation. They approached the looking glass slowly, gazing into its abyss. Finally! Cornelly smiled as he reached out and touched the gold frame. He was so enthralled and excited, he didn’t notice the shadow that was suddenly looming over them…

D: L&L (part 108 - Dot) -- Remembering Alice

2012-01-18T20:18:00.000-08:00

One thing I remembered about those long nights in bivouac up on the Southwestern Plateau about due west of Khandahar: it was cold as hell. The other thing I remember was watching horror flicks on Bon Bon's laptop, most of us squeezed into her tent. Night of the Living Dead, 28 Days Later, Dawn of the Dead, Resident Evil, 28 Weeks Later, etc. The girl loved zombie flicks. She had them all on a little thumb drive, and we'd seen them all dozens of times. It wasn't like there was much of choice; the interwebz were a little off the map at times. The Taliban didn't do WiFi up on the plateau so everyone good get the latest episode of "How I Met Your Mother". So, we did zombies.

We knew all the juicy lines. Hell, we knew every line from every movie, especially the Resident Evil series. Those were our favorites!

Alice: "I could kiss you, you bitch."

Rain: When I get outta here... think I'm gonna get laid."

Alice: "There's a cure!"

Rain: "Yeah, you like how I taste, don't you?"

I wanted to be Alice from Resident Evil like there was no tomorrow. Bon Bon was "Rain". We played the game all the time. We had lines for every situation.

What would Alice say when she came across some trace of a Taliban hideout? "You won't have to wait that long, boys. Because I'm coming for you. And I'm gonna be bringing a few of my friends." What would Rain say to the Taliban village elder? "Your boyfriend's a real asshole." Would Alice have really popped off a couple of grenades with the 203 or would she have simply flipped over to the other side of the gully and gutted the three banditos with her blade? Would Rain have carried the M4 or the fucking SAW?

All too often though, the zombies won. Or they took down all the lesser characters, and sometimes that made us a little sad; sometimes a little mad.

But those nights were what we looked forward to, and it was too often the only thing that made long patrols bearable - movies and movie quotes. We recited whole scenes, the boys chiming in now and again - Mikey was the best at play-along because he loved those movies, too, and he often played the 'guy who always gets eaten', while we kicked ass. The rest just tolerated our chatter. They had grown tired of Alice and Rain after about the thirtieth run-through, but they were good sports, and boys will stick through a lot of bullshit if they think that it'll get them laid sooner or later - even on patrol.

Right now, I wished Bon-Bon was by my side. I desperately wanted to say, "I could kiss you, you bitch." She would smirk and turn and fire. That's what I needed now. I smirk and a friend with an M4.

The train station was close. That's all I knew. No Bon-Bon, no Mikey, no blistering winds in the summer or icy ones in the winter on the plateau. No smart-ass remarks. No nothing, just zombies moving into the dim light, in and out of the shadows - click-clack, clank clank clank. Brainssssssss!

They were massing behind me - a few dozen at least, but it wasn't behind me that was an issue. It was in front. The little tik toks were moving out of the alley about fifty meters in front of me, their little bright sparking eyes turning my way, as if they already knew where I was. Could they communicate with each other? Was it like a hive mind? Could they smell my brains? Or were they being directed by someone who could oversee the whole neighborhood? I looked up as I ran, surveying some of the taller buildings, but they fell away in the black behind the hanging green Christmasy lights. Anyone up there would be able to see everything and maybe be able to anticipate my moves.

They'd also know my best escape routes, if they knew where I was going, so I was at a serious disadvantage. I wasn't exactly sure how to get to the train station, and I didn't know the terrain...and I didn't have a weapon that could slow them down This wasn't how things were supposed to go. This wasn't the Marine way. No reconnaissance, no brief, no GPS, no comm uplink, no weapons, and the only allies on the ground were already dead. This wasn't the Marine way. This was the shortcut to Arlington National Cemetery. I needed a miracle.

"Dot! This way!" A hand reached out of the darkness, grabbing my wrist, and I almost punched Spider in the throat.

"Fuck, Spider. I thought you were dead."

"Not yet," he said and pulled me into yet another alley. "Follow me. There's one way to the train station. We can get there, I think."

I didn't care. I had no other way to go, so I was right behind him.

I had no idea where we were going or where we'd been or even how long we'd been running. I only knew one thing: the little zombie robots were still coming, and now they were running, too. Most zombies couldn't do more than shamble, but some could run - 28 Days Later was twice as scary for that very reason. I guess the tik toks realized that simply surrounding me wasn't going to get it, and before I knew it, I could hear the clankity-clank of their little feet on the cobblestones. It was like hail on a tin roof - something I'd heard enough in my childhood in Kansas. I hadn't expected to hear that sound here. Still, it meant the same thing.

Left, right, straight ahead in the pitch black. I could barely see Spider, but I could hear him right in front of me, his heavy breathing - I guessed they weren't much for fitness here, no jogging, no body pump. I was waiting for him to keel over and die, but he kept going. "Climb over," he said, and suddenly I was vaulting a fence I had barely enough light to see. Then he was going left and climbing - a box, a crate, a series of crates going higher. We climbed, jumping and catching the tops with our hands and pulling ourselves up, and then suddenly we were even with the rooftops over an area that looked like warehouses. That's when I spied it and felt a sudden wave of relief and a sudden wave of anxiety, all at the same time.

The rule in zombie movies was simple: the escape had to be in sight and attainable, but only for one person. And in Resident Evil, it was always Alice. When I saw the train sitting there in the station, I knew then that I had to be Alice. If I had never been her before, now was the time. Why else had I named my pack after her? (My pistol already had a name, of course.)

"I see it," I heard myself yelling as we leaped over a short gap between the crates and a rooftop, and then we were clang-clanging on the tin roofs ourselves. If no one had known where we were, they sure as hell did now, and seconds later I could see little figures scrambling up onto the roofs all around us. The zombies were still coming. "Run!"

Spider didn't need to be told, but he did need help. I had been joking to myself about the aerobics, but a bass player in a rock band in the make-believe land of Oz was not the kind of guy one would expect to be able to run from a flock of metallic zombies for long, and before I knew it, it was me leading him, dragging him forward as he began to wheeze and stumble. "Come on, goddamnit!" I yelled at him and pulled and jumped another small gap from one roof to another. I wanted to say something, to throw a line at him from the movies, something to spur him on, but I knew he wouldn't get it...not like Bon-Bon and Mikey. "Today's your lucky day." Or "I got the power." Or "Good thing we like a challenge." Instead, there was one that stuck in my mind, waiting, waiting for that proper moment. I couldn't shake as I leaped again, almost losing Spider in the jump, but he made it, collapsing on the rooftop as the tik toks came on, closing quickly, scrambling like horrifying metallic bugs with gleaming yellow eyes. "Get up!" I screamed. He coughed. "Go on. Just at the end of the roof. It's okay. Jump down and run. We're there." His words came in gasps, cut off by coughing as he tried to steady himself on all fours.

"I'm not fucking leaving you behind, Marine!" I yelled, not thinking, not realizing he wouldn't understand, not caring. I grabbed him again and pulled him forward and up, trying to get him moving, and he let me, struggling to his feet, looking up at me with a kind of bewilderment, as if he couldn't comprehend that I was still trying. Behind him the zombies closed, the clatter of the rooftops like the roar of Niagara Falls. Backing away, I pulled on his arm and he stumbled on. Then, at the edge of the roof, Spider went down again, gasping, clutching his chest and his oversized belly. I screamed at him, yanking on his arm, but he shook me off and I nearly tumbled off of the edge. “Go,” was all I could hear him say. And then he looked up at me, the zombies bearing down on us, and lunged, his hands catching me at the hips, shoving, pushing me backwards over the edge. I fell, arms flailing, screaming back at him. I could see the blades at the end of the little metallic fingers reaching out, hear him shrieking as I dropped through the air and landed on a large pallet stacked high with hay bales.

Finding myself actually okay, I twisted myself around and dropped to the ground. The train was only about a hundred meters away behind a couple of small fences and just past the station - right where I left it. Suddenly its whistle sounded and I could hear the engine roar to life. The crazy engineer was ready to go – maybe he wasn’t so crazy after all. Maybe he knew something I didn't. It didn’t matter. My time in the Emerald City was at an end, and if it hadn’t been for Spider, I wouldn't have made it this far. He sacrificed himself for me, an effort truly worthy of a Marine, and one that I would never forget.

As I ran, that line came back to me again, the one that I had mumbled to myself when standing next to Bon-Bon’s casket just before she was loaded onto the C5 and sent stateside. “My name is Alice and I remember everything.”

D:L&L (part 107 - Scarecrow) -- The Wonderful Wizard of Awes

2011-12-12T17:39:00.000-08:00

It took a few minutes for me to regain control of my actions again. While I was – ahem – out of service, it appeared the whole world went to hell and back again. The Wizard had returned to human form, albeit it with feathers flying out of his mouth every time he opened it. Bunny King Charlie was apoplectic with rage; his playthings had taken to using his quite sufficient girth as a shield against us; and whatever soldiers had been defending him were now pointing weapons in a most threatening manner at our personages. (I also think that my latest episode had lent to me a somewhat jaded attitude to life and its perniciousness. I was in a state of severe pissed-offness.)

I heard a ruckus from behind, and when I turned all I saw was a puff of smoke where something else had been. What that something was, I had little in the form of a clue…until the Wizard managed to clear his throat, that is.

“The book,” he cried. ‘The Grimmerie. It was here, just a moment ago.” He jumped up and down as if he’d swallowed a swarm of gadflies. I struggled to contain my laughter. The sight of the old man’s shrivelled cock bouncing in time with Diggs’ motion reminded me of a worm on a trampoline. Not an image you’d like to wake up to every day, I could tell you.

“What happened now?” I said as I grabbed him by his shoulders.

“A black bunny had the book,” he cried.

“Not just any black bunny,” one of the king’s cohorts said. “It was the Black Bunny. Vaughn is our favoured son, our seer and protector.” He lowered his head. “And now he is gone and we don’t know where he went to.”

“What the fuck?” I said – and I meant it.

“He had the book, Fiyero,” the Wizard explained. “He had the Grimmerie, and then he vanished.”

“That was the puff of smoke I saw, right?”

“Correct,” the Wizard continued. “And I think I know where he’s gone.”

“What is the meaning of all this?” King Charlie wasn’t in the least bit impressed. “If what Vaughn said is true, then you are not our Keeper’s killers.”

“Thank fuck for that!” I exclaimed. “Now can we go?”

“You are going nowhere until we find the Owl,” the king commanded.

“Fuck that!” I’d had enough at this stage. So far I’d had my consciousness hijacked twice, been attacked The Unnamed God knows how many times, brought to another world and had my understanding of how time and its relative dimensions work torn to shreds, met then lost Dorothy Gale (both of them). Now I was to look for a fucking owl. Not now, pal, not ever. I said as such to his Royal Bunniness, but he wasn’t biting, and a lengthy argument ensued. In the meantime someone had located clothes large enough to cover the Wizard’s dignity (not that he needed much). I could see by his eyes he was formulating a plan of some description.

“What’s going on in that brain of yours?” I asked him. “Oh, by the by, did you drug me?” I had just remembered passing out back at the inn.

“That was necessary, Fiyero,” the Wizard blushed. “I needed you out of the picture while I got the lay of the land.”

“Bollocks!” I cried. “You wanted me out of your way so you could search for the book. I think you wanted to leave me here. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Diggs shook his head. “Look, Fiyero, we can argue semantics until the Bunnies come home; but right now we’ve other fish to fry.”

One of the bunnies from behind the king called out. “Did someone mention dinner? I’m famished, Your Majesty.”

“Fuck off,” the king intoned in a manner that suited his regalness. “We’ll eat once this matter has been put to bed.”

The Wizard, now attired in pajamas and slippers, strode up to the king and got down on bended knee. “Your Majesty, I beg that you release us into the wilderness and allow us to pursue our own matters. I was once the Wizard of Oz, if you recall, and as I was a valuable ally then, I will ever be one now.”

“And what matters are these?” What is the old bird up to now? I mused. If the Wizard has resorted to begging, then surely he must to be up to nothing good? “Matters of the Court of Bunnybury take precedence over all others. So it is written.” King Charles plopped his considerable ass back on his throne. “Enough of this balderdash – the Owl must be dealt with posthaste.”

“Bollocks!” I said again. “I’m out of here.” I turned to make my way to the nearest exit, but found myself surrounded by bobtailed soldiers. “Bollocks!” I repeated. (I hate repeating myself, but there you go.) “I used to be the bloody Emperor; doesn’t that count for anything?”

The Wizard Diggs continued his plaintive cries. “All of Oz is doomed unless I locate Vaughn. I believe he intends to resurrect Elphaba, the Wicked Witch of the West. If this happens, there will indeed be dark times ahead.”

“Where is your proof, old man?” the king boomed.

Diggs pointed over at me. “The scarecrow is your proof, Your Majesty. Did you not see him glow in the colours of Kiamo Ko not so long ago. Only Elphaba’s magic could have restored me to my human form against my will. She used your former emperor as a conduit.”

“A conjew-what?”

“An intermediary for black magic, Your Majesty. She is regaining her powers slowly but surely.”

“And how do you know this?” I could see by the king’s demeanor that he was interested in the Wizard’s thesis – as was I, if truth be told. Was Elphaba alive after all? And if so, what side, if any, would she take in my fight to regain the emperorship of Oz?

“I don’t mean to overly concern Your Majesty,” the Wizard continued his ass-licking, “but I also have reason to believe that Vaughn himself could be in the gravest of danger. If my knowledge of necromancy is true, when Elphaba reaches the point of resurrection, she may need a blood sacrifice.”

“Are you saying Vaughn may be that sacrifice?”

“I cannot be certain of anything,” the sycophant waffled on, “but one thing I do know, according to my research, that is how it’s done.” He was good, this one. No wonder he’d gotten to be “Wizard”.

“Maybe Elphaba will resurrect in a different manner,” the king said none too convincingly.

“Maybe so, Your Majesty.” Diggs coughed. “Maybe not. Do we have your permission to rescue both the book and your beloved citizen?”

“Go!” the king commanded. “Save our precious Vaughn. Protect Oz, and destroy that witch, once and for fucking all. What we don’t need is more witches! I’ve seen quite enough in my time.”

“Consider it done,” the Wizard said. He got up and looked around for me. “I need some straw, Fiyero.”

“What for?” I asked.

A twinkle appeared in Diggs’ eyes. “We’re going to follow the rabbit…down the rabbit hole.” He plucked a heap of straw from my arm. “Elphaba used you with her magic and because magic always leaves behind a residue, I will use what remains of this to concoct a spell and follow Vaughn.”

“You can do this?”

“My dear Fiyero, I can do anything.” He winked. “I’m a wizard, don’t you know?”

I shuddered. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Next stop: Kiamo Ko.”

D:L&L (part 106 - Dot) -- Dark Alleys (part two)

2011-11-28T19:48:00.000-08:00

There was a moment that I felt like this in Kandahar. I'm a long way from there, but I remember.

Ricky had the SAW. Mikey had the MGL, or as we liked to call it, the "Pop&Go". (He'd pop off a 46mm grenade and everything would go boom!) Both were low on ammo. Jimbo had Mossberg in the lead as we ran down alley after alley -- anything that stepped out of a doorway with a weapon took a 12-gauge slug in the chest. Bon-bon and Dice and I had our M4s ready to support any action at the intersections. Weldon was trying to reach the rest of the platoon; somehow we had gotten separated.

We turned a corner, navigating northeast back towards the rendezvous point, just north of the main souk, and suddenly we found ourselves face-to-face with a small group of men brandishing AKs and what I'm sure now was a LAW. The guy with the LAW was fastest on the draw since it was already on his shoulder when we saw him. Bon-bon took his head off, but he'd already squeezed off the rocket, and we scattered. If they hadn't been forty meters away, we'd have all been dead. (Mikey would later blame himself for not ensuring we maintained our spacing and for not peeking the corner. I have no doubt he did indeed peek, but we were moving fast, and things become a blur, and even if you don't know you're doing it, the training is true, and you do it without thinking about it. Still Bon-bon got off the shot but never got out of the way, and Mikey carried one of her dog tags from that day on.)

The LAW rocket exploded in the center of the intersection, catching the low overhang of stone above, shredding the immediate vicinity and leaving me with a mind-numbing ringing in my head, slammed half through a wooden door, a sliver of said wood six inches long in my leg, which I didn't discover until a few minutes later. I stood up, half in the darkened room that smelled of shit and rotting meat, half in the alley choked with concrete dust and dirt. I turned into the room, suddenly lost, suddenly unsure of which way to go, knowing only that the bright light behind me had almost killed me, that somewhere out there was a roar of gunfire and shouting. All I knew was that just then I was alone and all I had on me was Toto, but he wouldn't be much help in this adventure. I needed to find my weapon or at least get back to my teammates, where I'd be safe.

We're not in Kandahar anymore, Toto.

Right now I needed Ricky and his SAW, Mikey and his Pop&Go, even Jimbo. Jimbo's Mossberg would have dented those fucking tin men. It would have blown them in half. As it was, I had nothing. This time it was just me and Toto, and Toto's bark was just as useless in these alleys as it was in those. There he would have taken down a few bad guys if I could have gotten off a shot against a host of AKs; here, the little robots just stared at me with their dead metal eyes, their frozen smiles, and they kept coming, more and more of them like the Night of the Living Dead. At least with zombies, you just shoot them in the head - at least that's what the movies boast. Here: run.

I ran.

Jimbo pulled us north a few more blocks after that skirmish, then east again - just in case there were some unfriendlies lurking and looking for revenge. We knew the rendezvous point, but the alleys all looked the same, and we had to essentially feel our way there. I had to do the same.

There was only one thing to do now: get out of the city. There was only way to do that: train.

I could hear them behind me, moaning like the zombies aching for brains. I scrambled up, over a trash bin and vaulted a short fence. That might slow them down, but I doubted it. The little guys were resourceful, and they knew this place as well as I didn't. Peeking the corner, I saw nothing - it wasn't hard; it was some time in the middle of the night, and regardless of the Christmasy green lights all over the city, that cheery light didn't extend to the back alleys filled with trash. It looked clear, so I made the corner and stopped dead in my tracks.

Eyes. Like little battery-operated four-foot-high possessed toy robots, they moved out of the shadows, clinking and clanking and grinning at me.

For a moment, I thought I could hear the ringing in my ears again.

D:L&L (part 105 - Lion) -- Rollin’ on Twenty to Life

2011-11-17T06:17:00.000-08:00

Gilly had curled up on my shoulder at some point and had fallen asleep. I had been navigating my way through the darkened streets of the EC, not really knowing where I was headed to. The ease of our escape from her Majesty’s jail was soon made apparent by the vast numbers of tik-toks patrolling the streets. The sound of their tinny marches echoed throughout the city, every one of them had to be out; it wasn’t as if Glinda needed them to guard her shit. I didn’t know if they were aware of our break, but I wasn’t going to take any chances. Stealth of a Lion, stealth of a lion—I was trying to motivate myself, because let me tell you, I was an emotional wreck.

It was difficult to fathom everything that had happened. Between Glinda betraying me, to the Bunnies humiliating me, to being thrown into a cage with a bunch of miscreants, I was worn down. How had my life ended up like that? I know it’s difficult to believe, but I was once innocent and full of hope for everything and everyone around me. I left it all behind for the love of a mentally unstable witch. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I’d have gone back to her, even then; If she’d just tell me she was sorry for the pain she’d caused me. If she’d tell me she was going to change, that she’d finally realized what was important…I knew I was fooling myself, nothing would ever be right with her. In that one moment, hope died. She didn’t know how to love, she only knew how to take for herself, didn’t care who she ripped apart as long as she had her moment of gratification. She’d grown into such a destructive force and I knew she’d take all of Oz down with her if it ever came between her and her desires. And there I was, pathetic, useless, easy to walk on for the sake of love. Meow, meow—I am the mighty Lion, hear me roar. A joke is what I was. Life was the greatest of illusions, if you bought into its lies. There were no set rules, no conformity or guide for a happy life. Glinda had it all right at her fingertips and it wasn’t enough.

Gilly stirred awake on my shoulder. He was so young, so innocent with a bleak future ahead of him the way things were going. I shouldered a lot of the blame for that. Choices get us every time. I knew I needed to do something right in my life. I’d find a safe place for Gilly if it killed me.

He stood up to stretch and his massive boner poked me in the eye. “Holy fuck, Gil! Control that thing, would ya?” I whispered intently.

He wiped a spot of drool from his chin and turned his bleary eyes my way, his waking wood smacking me in the face again. I reached up to knock him away. “Dude! Watch where you’re pointing that. Jeez! I am the Lion King, you can’t just go around sticking your dick in Animal’s faces— man.”

I could tell he was trying not to laugh. “Yo man, sorry for that shit. It kind of goes where it wants to go. You should feel lucky you don’t have Gilly’s problem. But you know, if you was a bit smaller, you just might know how it feels. You got your balls and junk swaingin’ out and about, floppin here and there, yo,” Gilly said, pointing to my junk.

Embarrassment washed over me. I’d forgotten about the whole ‘I’m going back to my roots’ thing. “Fine, okay, so yeah, I’m hanging with the big guys. But still, you should really learn to control that thing. Maybe one day you’ll grow into it.”

“That’d be great. No more tripping Gilly, tented pants, and I might actually get to be on top for a change.” He started his little popping moves—

If Gilly could control his dick

Bitches be wantin’ to ride ma stick

“Gilly, dude. Shut up. You’re going to get us busted. I’m not going back to the cage.”

He covered his mouth, his eyes growing large and whispered, “Oops. Seems my dick ain’t the only thing I can’t control.”

“Yeah, fine, whatever. We need to get out of here. Out of the city. There’s got to be somewhere safe we can hide out.” I grabbed Gilly by the hand and started walking, he stumbled behind me.

I heard a train whistle in the distance and it hit me. We could hop the YBR out of town. We just needed to get to the station. “Come on Gil, hop on. We’re going to blow this joint.”

“Did you say we gots a joint? Gilly could make use of some of that right now.”

“Wha…?” I scrunched my face up, “Oh…no, not that. I meant… oh, never mind, just do what I tell you to.”

“I’m tryin to do what you tell me to. I thought you says we had a joint, means we should smoke it. Right? Where we goin’ anyways?”

“I didn’t say anything about a joint, and we don’t have anything to smoke. And we’re going to the train station. Maybe we can hope a ride out of here.”

“I like train rides. I ain’t never been on one, but I bet they’re nice. I think they must be nice. Can I hang my pecker out the window?”

“No. Keep your pecker in your pants where it belongs. Not get on my shoulder, let’s go. And keep…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. ‘Keep it in your pants, Gilly’, no problem boss.”

Gil hopped onto my shoulder, I was glad his pecker was flaccid, that thing scared me. Someone could lose an eye with it around. All I needed was to have my eye poked out while trying to escape. Crouching in the alley on all fours, I waited for a troop of tik-toks to march past us and then bounded across the street, taking cover in the shadows of a building. I stood with my back to the bricks, my heart pounding in my chest.

“I think we’re clear, boss,” G whispered. I nodded my head and turned to make my way along the sidewalk, trying to keep to the shadows. We slinked through the darkness—stealth of a lion, stealth of a lion—tripped over a wooden crate and crashed into some trash bins. The sound of running, tinny feet had me scrambling to grab Gilly and get hell out of there. I knew the tik-toks couldn’t keep up with my speed, but there was no way I could fight their numbers if we were caught. I didn’t know where we were, some part of EC that I’d never been to before. But I could hear a train engine; we had to be on the right track because the noise was growing slowly louder.

“I think we lost them, boss.”

“Good, because we’re here.” The metal gate to the YBR stood wide open. I guessed they ran passengers at night, perhaps from the celebrations. We stepped through the gate, I noticed all the lights were off at the ticket booth. What the hell was going on?

We continued through to the platforms. One engine was on the tracks, its single engineer walking down the line looking for… hell, I didn’t know what train engineers looked for, but he was looking. All I knew was that he was going to be our ticket out of this joint.

“Misssssster, ssssssay fella. The ssssssstation isssss closssssed. You shhhhouldn’t be here.Ssssaaay, you got any micccce?” a gravelly voice hissed from the shadows to our left. I turned in time to find a yellow Snake dressed in a tattered hat and an armless jacket coiled and ready to strike.

“Man, we don’t got nuffin’ for you. Do we looks like we got sumfin for you?” Gilly bowed up on my shoulder.

“Oh yesssss…. A Weassssseeel. I haven’t tasssssted Weassssel in agesssss,” it said as it slithered forward.

“There’ssss no need for you to come any closssser,” I said to him in his native tongue.

He paused in his approach. I glanced over at the engineer, hoping he was still doing his look-see bit. He had something in his hand…it looked like a shovel, and he was talking to it. Why the fuck was the dude standing on the tracks talking to a shovel in the middle of the night. I figured he must have been on break.

“Yesssss. I ssssseeee why you are here. Leave me the Weassssel and you may passsssss.”

I reached out and grabbed the Snake by the throat, knocking his hat to the ground. “Look here you belly-crawling, slithering worm, I’ve had a bad night and I’m not taking any shit from you.” I opened my maw, bit off his head and spit it next to his gungy hat. “Fucker tastes like chicken,” I said loudly.

“Let me eat the Snake boss. Can I eat the Snake?” Gilly pleaded.

“Fine!” I handed him the snake, as I approached the engineer.

“Ahem,” I cleared my throat when I reached him. The poor fella jumped and was startled again when he saw me. He raised his shovel up for a moment and then lower it again, relaxing.

“Ahhh, well now. I thought you was another o’ them Munchkinlanders come to kill me. No one should be here. Station’s closed. The trains aren’t running. They don’t run at night. We’ve learned our lessons the hard way, me and Smalls.” He looked at the shovel when he said the name. “The corn is still flat and the munchkins are still dead. I don’t think they’re going to get back up again. No sireee.”

“We need to leave the EC tonight.”

“Not by train. I’m waiting on someone.”

“Dude. You should really reconsider your options here. Let me lay them out for you like this. One, you can take us right the fuck out of town and not get eaten. No lip, no corn. Or two, get eaten and I take this bitch for the joy ride of her life.”

“Joy ride, joy ride. We can’t do a joy ride. There is no joy on the YBR only more, sonny, only death.”

I grabbed the little fucker by his striped overalls, lifted him to my face and growled. “You see these teeth? These teeth will fuck your ass up. Me and my friend here,” I glanced at Gilly munching on raw Snake, “we need to get out of the city now. I’m telling you, these teeth will eat you.”

“The corn will eat you, the munchkins will eat you and you will disappear. A Lion in the corn, a Weasel in the tank.”

“This cat’s funny, boss. Whacked, but funny. I don’t think he’s gonna play along. You best just eats him up now and let’s be on our ways,” Gilly said, pointing is half eaten Snake at the engineer.

“Look, Mr. Engineer…” I was interrupted and corrected.

“I am Oli Phant Cobb, if you please. Chief Engineer Oli Phant Cobb. Pleased to make your acquaintance. We should be on our way before the corn and blood reaches us. It’s coming you know. The corn— it ate them up. It tried to eat me too, but it got Smalls. Poor Smalls.” He clutched the shovel tightly in his fist.

“Man, you’re crazy. I sure hope you can drive this thing,” I said, putting the little man back on the platform. “And don’t ask for any tickets; the ticket booth was closed.”

“I’m s’posed to wait for someone here. She said -.”

“I don’t care what she said; let’s go!”

He stared at me as if I’d lost my mind, and with a wave of his hand started toward the forward car. I followed behind with Gilly riding shotgun on my shoulder, waving his Snake in the air and blurting out another one of his little songs. I was beginning to feel his rhythm, and thought if we ever got through the mess, I was going to put Gilly on a record.

Gilly and the big Cat

Got da engine on da front track

Goin out into the countray

Hope we don’t meet up with no Monkays.

D:L&L (part 104 - Dot) -- Dark Alleys (part one)

2011-11-11T08:04:00.000-08:00

I shot him square in the face and ran.

The tik toks in the alley never knew what hit them. I didn't give them a chance. Toto barked until he went mute, round after round, clip after clip until my pockets were empty. Little hollow squeals ringing in the alleys outside the last place we thought we'd be found, the last place that had any kind of familiarity in a city, in a world, in which I was still nothing more than a total stranger. The last few clips were safely tucked away in Alice, but there was no stopping to open her up. I couldn't if I'd wanted to. Unlike in Khandahar and in the valleys just northeast of Kabul, I couldn't stop running.

Marines don't run, they said. Marines turn and fight. Marines break the enemy where he stands with overwhelming force, superior strategy and shit load of attitude. Ooh-rah! We'd lost half our platoon near Nurestan in the Khorabad Valley - an ambush that we'd paid for dearly, but no one had run, and later we found out we'd decimated a force twice our size. Terrified in the pitch black of the Afghan night, we'd hunkered down, assessed the situation, set up fields of fire and retreated systematically, pulling the wounded with us as we could. For six hours we fought blind, lacking consistent communications, removed from Intel and Predator support, but no one ran. No one even thought about it. A lot of my friends died that day, and I expected to be among them, but we knew that world, and we knew what we were getting into, so we did what we knew - we fought back.

I didn't know this world, so I ran. I turned left, then right, one blind alley after another somewhere near the Iron Furnace, but it had all looked the same before, and in the night with nothing to orient on, it was just a blur, long swatches of near dark with little moments of luminescent emerald green.

One thing I've learned since I got here: Oz cheats. Oh, the Taliban - they did what they could to be sneaky, under-handed, downright dirty, but we knew the rules. There were no rules. That is, there were only the laws of physics, biology and ideology. Bullets went straight. Bodies died from wounds. Religion drove them on. Everything else was out the window. Here? In Oz? What physics? What fucking physics? Here magic rewrote all the rules - it had to be magic. How else could a little collection of junk stand up and try and kill me? How else could a massive man made of tin with a crazed look in his eyes wielding an ax kill the boy who had just looked at me the sweetest way a boy ever had?

Little tin creatures fell to the ground around me as I ran. My magic versus theirs. There was no blood, no crying, no screaming for God to save them, just a tinny yelp after a throaty bark, and the little thing was just a pile of junk...again. That made no sense, but it worked, and for now, that was good enough. They weren't alive, were they? So, I felt nothing.

I'd seen movies, seen all the sci-fi Hollywood could throw at a girl, but none of that shit was real. Those monsters weren't real. Here, suddenly, they was, and even though the movie theater had prepared me somewhat for this moment - prepared my imagination, at least - it had never occurred to me it would ever be a reality. It was like watching zombie flicks and knowing in your mind two completely contradictory things: you know exactly what to do when the zombie apocalypse comes, and the zombie apocalypse will never come. It gave you a smug feeling, made you feel superior - until the zombies actually did come, only these were made of metal.

It was like thinking you know exactly what you will say to those around you when you die - so convenient in a movie to let those last words of wisdom and love slip out when the script calls for it...Anis' last words - he didn't have any. There would be no sympathetic funeral scene, no touching separation scene. The sound of his skull splitting open was all I had left, and as much as I wanted to stop and puke as that sound and that scene played over and over in my head, all I could do was run. I tore out onto a broad avenue in the middle of the night, the little emerald green street lamps glowing and lighting my way to...where?

Little tinny men filled the street in front of me, coming out of the shadows like those horrible Hollywood zombies, eyes glinting with a sadistic spark, smiles painted across their gleaming faces, little murderous junk clowns. I ducked down another alley to the right as they started to run, a howl going up in the street like a sickening alarm.

In Afghanistan, we had maps. We had GPS. We were briefed - expect ambushes here. Roadside bombs are prevalent here. The Taliban has been known to operate in these areas, and the expected resistance level is this much. They have these weapons, and these are the known tactics. In Oz, I had nothing. I only had my sense of direction, which thankfully was a good one and I was sure would in some way, shape or form lead me to the only place I knew could be trusted - the Yellow Brick Express and that whack-job of an engineer, Mr. Cobb. If I made it that far.

I was alone now, and Toto was spent. I tore through the trash in the alley and vaulted over a low fence, little tinny footsteps behind me. Hollywood had taught a girl one thing, if nothing else: when in doubt, run.

Come on, motherfuckers; keep up if you can!

D:L&L (part 103 - Bunnies) -- Back in Black

2011-11-04T14:15:00.000-07:00

He didn’t want to lie to Cornelly and the troop, but he had no choice. The mission was the only thing that mattered. He had to protect the book, and any Bunny with half a brain could figure out the only reason for strangers in Bunnybury was to get the book.

“Not on my watch,” Vaughn whispered to himself as he appeared in Bunnybury Square.

The sun was setting, the growing shadows reaching across the marbled square. Dead silence was his welcome home. He couldn’t help but wonder if it would be like that one day, permanently deserted, the life drained from this place. It was the fate of the Bunnies if something didn’t change. Perhaps his mistress could help, surely she would have a solution to the predicament. Vaughn felt a surge of hope, a feeling he’d never experience before, and he felt the corners of his furry mouth curl up.

“I can save us,” he whispered the promise to the wind. Surely she would hear his words. But first the mission. All would be lost if the book was. He scampered to his quarters to retrieve the precious Grimmerie.

It sat just as he left it, hidden in plain sight along with other large volumes he’d read. He pulled it from the shelf and ran his paw along the spine. He liked the way the leather felt under his paw pad. Before he placed it inside the plain grey haversack, he brought the book up to his nose. His whiskers twitched as the musty scent of the pages wafted up to his nostrils. Looking at the Grimmerie gave no indication of its age, but smelling it, he could guess the ancientness of the tome. If he closed his eyes he could see creatures long since extinct preparing the pages, tediously writing each letter carefully, meticulously by hand, by the dim glow of enchanted candles. None of the creatures spoke; to speak would interrupt the magical flow and taint the spells being entombed on the pages. There could be no interference, else evil might arise one day. Vaughn wondered if those creatures had known the future of Oz and that evil would manifest itself to overthrow the lands.

He took a last glance around his humble dwelling; would he ever return to his home? A sadness welled up in his chest. He hoped there would be salvation for the Bunnies, for him, somehow. He had to have faith in his mistress – she was wise; she was kind. He silently closed the small, wooden door as he departed.

The Grimmerie was safe again, but he needed to find the king. He wasn’t going to completely break his promise to Cornelly. He hopped across the courtyard to the king’s palace. The run down structure had once been the glory of Bunnybury, now it served as space housing for the overpopulate. As he approached, he heard voices booming from the antechamber. Stealthily he crept to the door, slowly opened it and slipped down the great hall to the king’s reception hall. There he found a sight that shocked him at first. A strange man, a human, was sitting bound on the white marble floor surrounded by what looked like the feathers of the black birds. Stupid, insipid shits they are, those birds. Vaughn thought Pip must have plucked the man’s feathers to garner information from him. He didn’t wear the coverings of most humans, instead he wore only his natural skin. How awful it must be to have very little fur to keep warm during the cold seasons. A little tuft here, a little tuft there and how did these puffs of fur help keep anything warm? What strange, peculiar creatures those humans were.

Next to the naked man, also bound, sat another, not quite human. This one was a puzzlement to Vaughn. He stared at the form, bits of blue showing through…was that straw? Could this one be the fabled failed Emperor he’d heard so much about? Why was he in Bunnybury and who was the oddity beside him? And that feeling, familiar, comfortable—something powerful was happening.

Before Vaughn could questions the happenings, Pip scampered up beside him and started with his ranting, “Where have you been? We’ve been alone, dealing with this riff-raff,” Pip indicated the two strangers by waving his paw frantically at them. “Where are the others? Never mind!”

“Look at this, Vaughn. Just take a look at what I found next to our beloved Keeper. This only proves that these two murdered him!” Pip withdrew a long, brown, spotted feather from his velvet pouch and handed it to Vaughn.

Vaughn took the feather from Pip and examined it. King Charles noticed the black Bunny and addressed him, “Vaughn, my son, welcome home. We are glad to see you, but this is a low day. It seems we have managed to apprehend these two…criminals, who killed the Keeper. The gates are unprotected now; anyone can enter! The feathers, this one came as a bird and now is a,” he crinkled his little pink Bunny nose in disgust, ”human.”

But Vaughn knew right away that they were missing a vital clue. It was apparent as soon as he’d seen the feather in Pip’s paw. “These persons didn’t kill the Keeper. It’s obvious. It was the Owl.” Vaughn hopped to Machavelli. The captain took a bound back as the black one approached, unsure. Fear glazed his pink eyes, but he didn’t flinch as Vaughn reached towards Mach with his powerful paw and plucked the feather that adorned his black cap. There were inaudible gasps from most of the gathered crowd. Vaughn turned and presented the two almost identical feathers to the masses. “They are the same, look. It was the Owl.” He approached the naked human, shuddering at the thought of being a furless flesh bag, and gathered up a jet black feather. “They are not the same. These intruders, while strange and unseemly, are not killers,” he continued, looking from the flesh bag to the straw one. “They…” That’s when it hit him, taking the words out of his mouth. She was present; she was there. He could feel her around him, within him.

He eyed the crowd, searching frantically with his black eyes, where was she? His respirations increased. A panic filled him. He had to find her. It’s alright, my little one. I’m safe, and so are you. He looked back to the two strangers, and there in the eyes of the straw one, he could see her. She glowed faintly inside of him…it. But how? Why? She was there for her book. He floundered nervously as he unlatched his pack and withdrew the book. She needed it; it was time. No! My dear one, No! Leave now, come to me! The Grimmerie is not safe there. You must bring it to me, Vaughn.

The flesh bag’s eyes widened at the sight of the Grimmerie. A lusty expression transformed his facial features and he struggled in his bounds, crying out as he tried to reach for the enchanted tome, but Vaughn hopped back out of reach just in time, took another look at Machavelli and vanished from where he stood, in front of everyone he knew. Bunny mouths dropped open as the odd one, the Black Bunny, the one who was never fully trusted disappeared before them, leaving behind a wisp of black smoke.

He felt a sense of relief at being back where he was born. The darkness of the old incantation room enveloped him like a long lost brother. He placed the Grimmerie in its hand-carved book cradle, and watched as the pages peeled back, opening to the spell she needed. Then he waited for her to come…

D: L&L (part 102 - Tin Man) -- For Whom the Ax Bleeds

2011-11-01T08:51:00.000-07:00

What have you learned Dorothy?

Well, I - I think that it - it wasn't enough to just want to see Uncle Henry and Auntie Em - and it's that - if I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I won't look any further than my own back yard. Because if it isn't there, I never really lost it to begin with! Is that right?

You heart’s desire.

That’s right, Dorothy. You insipid little bitch.

“Sir?”

I glanced down at the tik tok to my right, who had refused to stray too far from my side, even when the blood flecked upon his face and tin skin. We watched the sprawling metal building squatting in the moonlight and listened to the faint strains of music cracking the otherwise still night. I was sure the last night of the festival still rollicked and thrilled parts of the city, but here, in a subdued industrial district, night clung to the edges of dirty metal faces and crouched in doorways, and inside the shell that produced the sweetest of treats hid a woman who might be Her, who might be another, who might be waiting, who might be hiding but would soon be mine.

If I still had lips I would have licked them.

“Sir,” the tik tok hissed, edging closer.

I shook my head and placed a hand on his cold shoulder. “Not this time, little friend. I’m in this one alone.”

I know a lot about my heart’s desire. And it has led me to this door.

She was calling his name as I approached the shadowed doorway. Over and over she called it, she moaned it, she groaned it between whispers, beneath breath, her tiny little gasps and grasping flower hands moving, moving, moving over his body over his skin over my body over my skin I’m him I’m him I’m him.

The trees hid me, the way they’ve always hidden me, the way they hid me as time swirled me while waiting in the forest for a young girl from Kansas to find me. She found me – my Dorothy found me rusted and silent, arm aloft, eyes lifted, waiting silent waiting proud, knowing my Nimmie Amee waited for me, blind that she had remade me and made herself his, gave herself to him unknowing I was waiting to return, waiting for rebirth, waiting to travel the road leading to my heart.

Why, it’s a man! It’s a man made out of tin! And she rushed to me, towering and huge-eyed compared to the bright flower of my Nimmie Amee.

A heart is not judged by how much you love; but by how much you are loved by others.

The Wizard of Oz looked into my eyes as he said that, and I left with those words echoing through my empty head. I left with those words, walked to the beat of them, a new heart crashing in my chest, the rhythm setting my pace as I raced back to her but somehow I got off track. I didn’t return as I should.

And it was Dorothy’s fault. It was all her fault.

She was calling his name as I approached the shadowed doorway. Over and over she called it, she moaned it, she screamed it on high lilting breath, over and over like a mantra, like a prayer:

“Anis! Anis! Anis! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaniiiiiiiiiiiiissssssssssssssss,” until her breath hissed and I imagined her sweaty and arched and slick, head empty and thick, slumping into the quick nick of his kiss, the wet curve where she fit, the shift between breathless bliss and knotted sleep.

Then I heard the click.

“What tha-“

The voice behind me was muddled and thick. I turned, gleaming in the flickering light, and caught a quick glimpse of a young Munchkin, hair in a thick braid over one shoulder, mouth full of…

“Is that a muffin?” I asked a tick before sinking my axe into his hip.

He moaned, the long red mutton chops stretching along his jaw, and a few hunks of muffin slipped through his lips as he stared at me, one hand flicking out to claw at the corridor wall. “You’re…” he gasped, slipping slumping against the wall, “you’re him. You’re the man, the one made out of tin.”

I had sliced him nearly in half, but only nearly. His other hand was skittering over his waist, into the red mess that was his hip, streaking blood across his chest and up toward his mouth, where a few crumbs glistened like crystallized light, like captured sun, like bright sugar spun and flung into lit leaves.

Inside the room she stirred. I heard her body moving against sheets stiff and wet, sticky and reeking of sleepless sex and crushed sugar. The whole place was heady with sweetness and sex, a sickening combination, Nimmie Amee had left pies to cool in the windows, sticky sweet brown things plump with caramel and butter that melted almost when you touched them.

“No!” She would giggle, swatting my hand away. “Not now, wait until they cool, until they set.”

I’m cool. I’m set.

“That last set was whacked,” the young man said over his shoulder as he walked out the door. Just behind them I saw two forms stirring in mottled sheets on the floor. He slung a hunk of knotted hair over his shoulder an instant before his eye caught mine. His face fell. “Oh. Fuck.”

Another guy, shorter and thicker, bumped into his back. “Spider? Wassup?”

Spider whimpered, pushing one hand behind him, but the door had already closed at the little guy’s back. “Shiv,” Spider hissed, “Shiv back up. Shiv, open the door. Shiv open the door!”

The sound of frantic doorknob turning filled the dim corridor as the two men stumbled over one another. I sighed. This would be too easy.

“Listen, men,” I leaned back against the wall and nudged the body of the halved Munchkin into the most well-lit spot of the hall; Spider and Shiv both gaped. “I think you know this little guy.”

“Ho shit,” Shiv whispered. “Ho shit ho shit ho shit ho shit.”

I hefted my axe and tapped the blade against my palm; metal clinked against metal. “Yes,” I agreed.

“Run,” Spider hissed from one corner of his mouth, eyes cutting to one side. “Run.”

I nodded. “Smart boy.”

Shiv and Spider burst into the room, screaming and pointing.

"Big silver guy with an ax and a big fucking smile on his face!"

"Run!"

Dot hissed, kicking Anis, until he sat up. He was naked, his body still slick and shining in the low lamplight.

Her whole body on fire and pulsing, Dot slid from the mattress on the floor and silently slipped into her clothes, stiff and sour from days on the road. She ignored the confusion behind her, the eyes on her naked body. It was time for action. She did it all with one hand, Toto up and ready the whole time she dressed.

A moment later, the screaming stopped, and when she turned back, the tin man was inside the room.

“Going so soon?” he asked. “I wouldn't hear of it. Why, my little party’s just beginning.”

The funny part is, the bitch tried to kill me.

Something in her hand, it cracked loud across the room and I felt myself jerk back with the impact of it. I looked down to the thud and dented metal of a hole in my chest, then glanced over at her. Dot’s face – too much like her grandmother’s to keep my mind fully here – went white and still. She swallowed. I smiled.

“Try again.”

“Fuck,” she hissed.

In a corner, a young man sat up and stared at us. “Dot?” He asked.

She didn’t move, keeping her eyes on me, but the thing in her hand began to tremble when I raised my axe and took a step toward the pallet on the floor.

“Who’s this?” I asked.

“Don’t,” she whispered.

I took another step closer to the young man, who had slumped against the wall. A dark spot spread on the already stained sheets puddled around his waist. “I’m going to kill you now,” I told him. He’d already seen what I’d done to his two friends. They had gone down without even a whimper.

“Oh shit,” he whimpered, turning toward Dot. “Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit.”

“Yeah, oh shit,” I echoed. “Yeah oh shit.”

Amused, I glanced back at Dot, who raised the thing and it cracked loud again, something thudding into my hollow chest, pushing me back with the force of it.

“Really?” I asked her.

“Run!” She screamed at the young man, who didn’t move as much as an eyelash. “Dammit, Anis, run!”

But his eyes couldn’t leave my gleaming metal face, my twisted tin chest. His mouth dropped open wider with each step I took toward him.

“You’re a monster!” Nimmie Amee had screamed as she kicked in my grasp, gasping as I moved inside their home toward her cowardly lover with my face, my lips, my hands. “Stay away from him, you monster! You’re nothing! Nothing! You’re heartless – a heartless freak, Nick!”

“Goddammit, Anis, get up,” Dot roared, moving toward us. “Get up you spineless jackass!”

With one hand I was able to snatch up Dot’s hair – she had been fixed on the trembling young man on the mattress – and pulled her against my side. Her face whipped up, and in her eyes I saw not even the faintest glimmer of hope, of innocence, of youthful vitality that had emanated from her grandmother. There was only darkness, tumbling and turmoil, and a twist to her mouth that made me pause.

“Great Ozma,” I whispered, staring down at her, “what happened to you?”

“Now!” She screamed into my face, and suddenly I was hurtled backward, crashing into the floor, and she scrambled away from me. The young man, quite naked, had leapt to life and into my knees, dirty fingernails scrabbling up my slick polished body. I caught Dot’s ankle before she was fully away, and she twisted around just in time to see me plant my axe into her lover’s skull.

“Fucking Lizzie Borden,” Dot shrieked, much to my confusion. “Holy God, oh my God, oh my God.”

Anis’s face split, and one eye dropped to his cheek as he collapsed on my chest. I moved to push him away and Dot slipped from my hand. I jerked my axe free from Anis’s head, sliding it out through and therefore destroying what was left of his face, and watched Dot leap to her feet after snatching up her silver thing. I wiped my axe blade off on the bloody sheet and looked into the barrel of her contraption.

“Meet Toto,” Dot said, spreading her feet and flicking her thumb.

I smiled at her. “Haven’t we gone through this before?” I tapped my mangled chest.

“Maybe,” she answered, cocking her head and closing one eye. “But last time I didn’t shoot you in the face.”

I can barely hear my heart beating!

D: L&L (part 101 - Scarecrow) -- A Nebraskan Crown in King Charlie's Court (part two)

2011-10-26T11:49:00.000-07:00

The Bunny King’s palace was nothing like I had expected. Compared to my own accommodation, back in the day, King Charles’ home resembled nothing more than a large warren. In every corner a family, of royal nobility no doubt, had set up their own little space, complete with wardrobe, entertainment suite, and a pot to piss and shit in. It would have been quite homely, if it wasn’t for the fucking smell. One thing I’ll say about my stewardship, I kept Oz (well, Emerald City) hygienically and fragrantly clean. (Except, of course, for the Munchkins: they had their own ways; there was nothing I could about them.)

King Charles himself had the appearance of a Bunny made good, a fortunate Bunny who was in the right place at the right time. Perhaps he’d fucked the right Bunny-girl at the right time, I don’t know. But he looked about as regal as a pedlar of timepieces back in the homeland. But who was I to know to judge others their right to a king of their choosing.

These fucking ropes hurt like hell. My wings were jammed tight to my side and I could barely get a breath out of my gagged beak. I rummaged through my brain, seeing if I could locate some sort of transformation spell. I was tired of being a crow now. I turned my head to look at my travelling companion. Fiyero, my poor, poor Scarecrow, was still out for the count. There was little sign of life in the straw man’s body. Funny, I thought, I didn’t think he’d be out this long. Maybe he was in an irreversible coma because I’d failed to take into account our change in size. Too many variables; too little time to consider each one of them. Oh well, better make the best of a bad situation, I mused.

We were plopped in front of the clown king. He nibbled on a carrot stick, his little pink eyes examining us as a scientist would a petri dish. I struggled in my binds and made what I hoped was a pleading squawk-like noise. Finally Charles was done with his nibbling and had seemed to come to a decision.

‘Ungag the bird,’ he said. His order was dealt with immediately and I was glad for the relief, as well as the ability to breathe normally again. I still kept searching by brain for spells, though. It was essential I gained the upper hand (wing?) in this confrontation as soon as I could.

‘Your Majesty,’ I said once I had my breath back. ‘I assure you, there must be some sort of mistake here. Whatever your people have told you, we didn’t do it.’

The king giggled. ‘As defences go, that ranks up there with “the voices made me kill.” No, that cuts no mustard with me. You and your sleeping creature have breached the walls of my city, killed our Keeper, and your presence here is causing all sorts of rumours to spread around town.”

‘But Your Majesty,’ I continued, thinking I may as well be hung for a crow as a man, ‘our journey here was complete happenstance. We were headed to Kiamo Ko and I think we…took a wrong turn…somewhere…sort of.’

The court erupted with laughter, the king enjoying my discomfort as much as his subjects. When it receded he continued his interrogation.

‘And what kind of business do you have in that dark place? Methinks you wish to bring evil sorcery back to Oz and thereby causing much weeping and gnashing of teeth.’

‘The thought is furthest from my mind,’ I said. Here goes! ‘I have relatives in the area and all I wish to do is catch up on old times.’

‘Balderdash,’ a voice from behind the king called out. Charles looked around and caught the eye of the Bunny who’d spoken. ‘My apologies, Your Majesty, but I know a lie when I hear it.’

‘Speak, Pip,’ the king commanded.

The Bunny came out front and bowed to his ruler. He turned to us and said out loud: ‘I have contacted Cornelly and his forces and have informed them of this breach in our security. It is my understanding that they will be here forthwith. Your Majesty’s personage is our utmost concern. Our Inquisitors will get the real truth from these strange beings.’

‘Inquisitors?’ I squawked. I have this thing about pain: it’s a good thing but only if others are experiencing it. Personally I have a low threshold for all kinds of pain. Once I came up with a spell to cure my migraines; it was one of the happiest days of my life. ‘With the greatest of respect, Your Majesty, you don’t need to go that far. Pray, good king, please ask your questions.’ From the corner of my eye, I saw Fiyero stirring. Was he at last coming to? I hoped so, I needed some support.

‘I shall ask one more time, vile creature,’ the king boomed. ‘What is your business here in Bunnybury? Why did you kill our keeper? And finally, pick which way you want to die. I recommend burning, personally; the smell of singed flesh fills the city with so much wonder.’

Fiyero’s struggle to regain consciousness grew fiercer with every passing moment. But it was more than a struggle; it had an energy all of its own. And this energy had a colour: the green of a woman I’d thought long gone. This crackling magic frightened the poor Bunnies into silence. Pip and the Bunny Girls cowered behind their king – who was really no use in a fight that involved dark forces. His spiel was all blood and thunder, little more.

The scarecrow stood up and shuffled off the ropes that had bound him. He looked at me. His eyes were green, although the rest of him was normal. He raised his right hand and pointed it at me. At once my own bonds fell off. Though that was not all. I could feel myself changing, too.

The pain was extreme; every cell in my body felt on fire. This was a magic I had not seen for over fifty years. My feathers fell off, my beak disappeared, my crows’ feet became human once more. It was no wonder I couldn’t find a spell that would transform me back to normal; I was not powerful enough to do it by myself. But I knew one who was. One I had thought dead. One who was now occupying the body of Fiyero.

Scarecrow turned to face the king. ‘Your Majesty,’ he said in a voice that was – but not quite – his. ‘We need to talk.’ He looked around. ‘In private.’ He looked at me, then. ‘And can we get the Wizard some clothes? Nakedness doesn’t become him.’

I looked down and saw that he was right.

D:L&L (part 100 - Narrator) -- Never Forget

2011-10-22T20:36:00.000-07:00

The skies echoed with the aftermath of the festivities. The Day of Accolades was over -- the A in GLINDA, signifying the end of the regular six-day week, had hung in the air like a living being, no more than an amazing feat of fireworks, a tribute fitting a queen.

And then the clouds had rolled in, shattering the jubilant festival, sending the crowds in the Plaza de Revolucion scurrying for cover.

The crowd has been building the entire day, moving in and out, an ebb and flow of personages, paupers and peons through the massive plaza just outside the Royal Palace. They'd gathered to wish their regent well, to see and be seen, and to enjoy the scheduled festivities -- the dances, the music, the tasty treats that were roasting on spits opposite the palace. They'd enjoyed the balancing acts, the animals' tricks, the fluttering flags and gaily-tinted pavilions filled with arts and crafts and simmering stews. Here and there a small contingent of tik toks would march through, their little tinny bodies gleaming with oil and polish, a brightly-colored penant hoisted among them with either a great "G" or "N" or other letter from the name of the renowned regent stenciled on it and flapping in the warm summer breezes.

Yet, despite the throngs that were present to celebrate the birthday of their magnificent regent, Glinda herself had never appeared. The throne located at the top of the palace steps on the dais, occupied every other evening during the week, had remained empty. The rest of the Court, as it were, had been in attendance, filling the smaller seats on either side of the throne, and several of the Lords and Ladies had even danced the Gilikin Shuffle just before dinner had been served. The twenty-seven piece orchestra brought in for that event and to play throughout dinner had expertly run off their list of stirring sonatas and symphonies, leading up to the planned shift in tone and tenor. Following the Emerald Orchesta's arrangements, the Deep Fried Mutton Chops were to take the stage, but it seemed the band had not even shown up, leaving the stage marshal scrambling to find the act the Glorious One had required, searching for the Lion who had signed, promoted and planned the act, and finally succumbing to defeat, prompting the event coordinator to move the fireworks display up two full hours.

He'd promptly rousted out the "Sky Marshall", as the old man referred to himself, and set him to quickly readying his spectacle. A few minutes past nine, the orchestra having dwindled to a quartet that had volunteered to stay and play longer now gone, the first rocket had arched over the palace and set the sky on fire with a golden shower that brought the expected oohs and aahs from the crowd. The Sky Marshall received handshakes and claps on the back all around before he was even half done with his show when fiery dragons belched smoke and pink and purple fairies exploded into the night sky. Each magnificent explosion lit up the sky over the palace like lightning, each successive boom the thunder of the resplendent thunderstorm. Now and again, there were gasps of wonder, but none so much as the final reaction when just as the haze from the climactic bombardment began to clear, six magical rockets whooshed into the air and left the name of the Glorious One emblazoned on the murky backdrop of the sky for a few moments. It was the piece d' resistance of the Sky Marshall, and the rumbling of the exploding rockets was reflected in the thunderous applause from the plaza.

A moment later, the sky was boiling with clouds and murderous lightning streaked down into the throngs, sending the mob screaming from the square. Thunder boomed across the cobblestones, shattering windows as far away as three blocks, and knocking fleeing people to the ground. The wind swirled as if a twister would descend from the maelstrom overhead and rip the plaza apart, brick by brick, and rain began to come down in torrents. Within minutes, the crowds were gone, the festivities ruined.

High above it all, her naked body glistening with rain, Glinda stood on the balcony of her lonely tower calling to the storm, her hands reaching up as if to catch the clouds, fingers bent, stabbing down to the ground in unison with the bolts of deadly blue-white that descended from the chaos overhead. Her face was twisted in a horrific mask, her eyes red and swollen, rain like tears on her cheeks. She scanned the plaza far below, pointing and shifting the lightning that she could literally feel in her tingling fingertips - now a storm of the powerful bolts through the pavilions across the plaza, now all of them smashing the dais to pieces, charring the marble where it struck. She howled with the wind, laughed, began to sing a song at the top of her lungs, the words ripped from her mouth by the wind and carried away before she could even hear them.

No, no more celebrating. No more cheering. No more clapping. There will be no more happiness here today. There is only fear and terror and pain now. I see you pretending to love me. I see the lies on your lips. I see the hate in your pig eyes. Run, my little ants! Run, my little Pigs and Tigers and Goats. Run away little people of Oz - Munchkins and Winkies and Gilikin upstarts with your little money bags and pretentiousness. Go back to your pathetic lives. Hide in your sad little holes, and pray to Ozma to save you. But don't hold your breath. I'm still here. Don't forget that. Don't you ever forget that. If you do, you will regret it.

D: L&L (part 99 - Narrator) -- Shattered

2011-10-17T20:13:00.000-07:00

Standing against the parapet of the topmost tower of the dark castle, she waited. The updrafts off the cliffs whipped by, howling like playful banshees as she shivered in the cold winds, felt them buffet her naked skin, toss her glistening hair. She refused to cover up, instead preferring to bare her newborn self before the elements -- wind and rain and lightning and thunder. They played in the sky around her, dancing around briefs moments of moonlight, a bright orb gleaming in her eyes now and again when the roiling clouds broke. Shafts of blue-silver fire streaked down from the storm bank in the distance and reached out like spidery tendrils towards the floor of the valley below, followed by rumbling thunder like the booming drums of the distant Winkies. The rains came on and off, now in an easy mist, now in driving torrents, straight down, sideways, then up, swirling in the updrafts.

Standing fast, she held onto the steady stone of the parapet and endured the elemental baptism, her welcome back to the living world.

She smiled then for the first time -- it had been so long that she couldn't remember having done it before, couldn't remember the feeling, couldn't fathom what her face looked like, even though she could feel all the muscles moving, guess at the shape of her mouth, see in her mind's eye her lips thinned and stretched. This was what it felt like to be alive.

The frozen winds blasted the parapet, wrapping her in their icy talons, leaving her skin crawling with emerald goose flesh as she began to laugh. It was a glorious feeling, this new freedom, this sudden arrival. She couldn't describe it. What had been before was long gone -- the long night of wandering in the darkness was over and morning had come.

And before that -- what was there? She could catch glimpses of it now, stronger images than before, more powerful sensations -- pictures and smells and noises and feelings. They poured over her like the elements, coming and going on their own schedule, leaving her powerless to their whimsy until she found herself sobbing on the barren floor or fallen onto her straw bedding writhing in some ancient agony, clutching at phantoms. Searing anger ensnared her heart in its grip, sending her tiny mirror flying across the room, where it shattered against the unyielding stone. Crushing heartache paralyzed her and threatened to suffocate her. Then just as suddenly there were moments of calm and clarity, and the visions of the world as it once was once upon a time flowed across her mind like a lazy river, carrying her along in the easy tide of fragmented memories -- a clumsy little boy, a beautiful man with diamond tattoos, a lost girl with a dog, an ancient clock.

Lightning crackled across the sky, illuminating the jutting tower, the black rock of the parapet, the sleek emerald skin of a lithe young woman. It flashed again and again, throwing shadows across the open stone of the battlements, the worn thatch of the roof, the broad yard slick with rain. The woman raised her hands with a sharp cry as the lightning snapped the night into day, threatening the moonlight with its fiery grip, the base of its roar booming along the cliffs below. And then the night fell into silence, and the figure on the tower slumped down against the gritty rock. She took a deep breath and began to sob.

The moment was here finally. Her revenge was at hand, that planned-for moment when she would feel the breath of life in her lungs again, the thump-thump of her heart. The children had worked so hard for this moment, bringing her the sparks. The enchanted ax had done the rest, spark after spark skipping across the Gilikin River and skirting the Haunted Forest, climbing the ancient black cliffs of Kiamo Ko to feed the will of the wretch. Now it was done. Now the task was complete, and with each spark, she'd grown more powerful, more substantial, until she'd felt her soul become whole again and seen the world with her own eyes. She had been drawn to the battlements, had staggered out into the storm and felt the world touch her again, a glorious and triumphant feeling of joy...of life. And yet, somewhere deep down inside, she could sense the patchwork nature of her soul, the ridges where it was joined like a quilt fashioned from various swatches of cloth -- so many textures, so many patterns and colors and schemes, spark after spark after spark.

They shrieked in unison, crying out in agony, screaming for vengeance, the ghostly voices crashing against her mind with their desperation, crushing her heart with their rage, and she clutched her head and trembled amidst the storm, transferred from the sky to the landscape of her mind. Then as quickly as it had come, it was gone, a quiet peace on the horizon, the clouds breaking, the winds subsiding, the moonlight shining through onto the slender young body sprawled out, unmoving, on the unforgiving stone of the topmost tower.

As the dawn broke over the black cliffs, she sat up and inhaled the crisp air of the high peak, shivering in the cold and blinking at the little tinny man that had finally made its way up from the bowels of the fortress to find her. It stared at her hesitantly, then took another creaky step forward and extended its stubby arm. In its hand, it held her broken mirror, cracked and incomplete, a patchwork of images that reflected the sharp black eyes and smooth green skin of the former Wicked Witch of the West.

D: L&L (part 98 - Lion) -- Lock Pick Pocket Pool

2011-10-13T19:51:00.000-07:00

—I’m all dope wif a Cat

Imagine dat, imagine dat

Locked down behind deez barz

While da white bitch wages warz—

Gilly’s squeaky voice brought me out of my dreamless slumber. I peeked an eye open to see what that whacked out Weasel was doing. He was cutting some strange moves on the stone floor and singing, I guessed. Only it wasn’t quite singing, more like rhythmic talking, and in between he threw in some noises, like he was trying to spit out Chicken feathers. I didn’t even know anyone could move their body that way and his sound was kind of unique. I watched for a few minutes, pretending to be asleep…

—Wats dat you got to say to me?

Gilly don’t like yo stank ass anyway

I don’t need your stinkin’ crap

Cause I all dope wif a Cat—

He started spinning on the floor. I had to sit up for the show… “How the…” I started to say, but didn’t want to interrupt him. The Wonder Weasel was doing a wondrous thing; face to the floor, the little fuck was spinning on his doinker – it poked out in his pants like some awkward pocket pool. The thought made me cringe and cross my legs. “Damn, GW, what you doing there?”

I caught the poor little guy off guard. His eyes shot open like saucers and he went flying across the floor, crashing into a makeshift work table set up by a raggedy-furred Jackal inking up a fat, pink, bald Pig. The Pig tumbled off the table squealing like it was about to be put on a spit. The Jackal was knocked to his ass on the floor. I cringed, watching the ordeal. Oops! I covered my smile with my paw.

The Jackal rose up, snarling at GW, who was pressed against the bars trying to become one with the metal captor. The Jackal made for the Wonder Weasel; it was pissed. Gilly brought his arms up to cover his face – who wants to see the teeth that are about to eat you? His back slipped from the bar he was pressed against and he fell through to the other side. He curled up on the ground waiting to become Jackal jerky. Perhaps it was the Jackal’s hot breath blowing Gilly’s fur up on his hindquarters, or the snapping sound of the teeth, that had him peek between the paws covering his eyes. He snapped up outside the cage, amazed he was still alive and free, but he couldn’t help teasing the angry Jackal. The wily Weasel started his strange dancing again, popping his body and waving his large appendage at the salivating beast.

—Yo, yo you biting muthufuckuah

Can’t get yo teeth on this badass brutha

Suck a dick, bitch! Suck on this long, dong, schlong—

Then he froze. I thought it was more dance moves, some pause before the Grand Finale, until a look of fear flushed over his face. “Oh shit,” he squeaked as he scrambled to get back in the cage, avoiding the Jackal. “They commin’, man. They commin’.” He ran in and took a place behind my leg.

“Dude, your boner is poking my leg,” I said to him calmly. I didn’t like looking like a fool with a Weasel humping on my leg. It couldn’t look good from another’s perspective. Then again, I realized I really didn’t seem to give a Winkie shit about much. Was I finally free?

“I can’t help it Catman, the damn thing’s always in my way,” he replied, smiling up at me.

“You start rubbing and I’m feeding you to the Jackal.” I indicated the Beast; it was looking angrily our way, but I knew it wouldn’t do shit – not while I was there.

The sound of a key in the heavy lock brought everyone to attention—the altercation swiftly forgotten. The thick wooden door swung open on creaking hinges and through it marched six Tik-toks. They were kind of cute, you know. Little metal legs, big clockwork eyes, but I knew they were deadly, thanks to Glinda. The deadlier, the better, when it came to her wants – sick bitch. Dirty, raunchy, nasty bitch. I felt a little stirring of my own.

Up to the cage, the six of them moved in unison—left, right, left, right—halt. I found myself standing alone, the others having worked their way back into the corner, huddled together as if there was safety in numbers. Fucking cowards, I thought.

“All of you will come with us,” rang out one small tinny voice. One reached to unlock the cage door, its keys jangling, metal against metal. I stepped forward, ready to get the hell out of there. I didn’t care where we were going – anywhere but here was alright by me. I stepped to the opening bars only to find a small metal hand pushing against my stomach. “Not you, Cat. There are other plans for you. Now, step back away from the cage.”

“Uhh, what do you mean by ‘other plans’ for me?” I inquired.

I was ignored. I didn’t want the trouble that would come with arguing, so I backed up and allowed the others to pass. I could feel Gilly attached to the back of my leg. He was trembling and it kind of reminded me of the first time I had met Cu’. Puppies like to hump, and well, sometimes you just gotta help a brother out.

At least I wouldn’t be alone. I wasn’t about to give Gilly up and be a stool Pigeon. Cats don’t like Birds that tweet. The tin soldiers surrounded the group of inmates, Gilly seemingly forgotten, and led them out of the door. The clinking sound of the key in the lock was quite discernible amid the silence left behind by the absence.

GW peeked from behind me, “They gone, man?” he asked.

“Yeah, they’re gone. What was that about?”

Gilly stepped to the floor. “Man, that’s bad news. This’s bad news for you, too. Them others – they being taken to the gone-gone. They ain’t comin’ back never. Just like last time. You though, seems to Gilly, they going to save you for something special. Like maybe make a lesson out of you. You all crazy; you killed some of them peoples up there on the streets; now, they gonna show who is da man… errr woman.”

“Ridiculous,” I said, but knew Glinda well enough to think perhaps Gilly wasn’t half wrong.

“We need to ‘scape here man,” he said, as he jumped back and forth from foot to foot. He tried to hold down his enlarging dick, looking at me with wide eyes. I cocked an eyebrow and he tried to cover the schlong up. “It just has a mind of its own, man. I can’t seems to ‘trol it.” I had to laugh; it was kind of funny looking at an Animal who had a dick half its own size. “Shit ain’t funny,” he whined.

“Gilly, your boner just gave me an idea.” I reached down to pick him up, but he jumped through the bars.

“Uh, uh… no way, man. Gilly don’t play that stick. I like you an’ all, but man…”

“Get your ass back in here, Gilly.”

He shook his head rapidly, “No, no, no, no! Your last meal ain’t gonna to be me… or my pecker, you hears?” He stood, pecker and finger pointing directly at me.

I laughed harder, “GW, man, I’m not going to eat you. I was going to pick these locks with your dick. How is it you don’t trip over that thing anyways?”

“Gilly got skilly, you see. So you just stop yer laughin at me, right there,” still pointing.

I tried to contain my laughter, “Yeah, man, you’re right. Can’t use your dick as a lock pick.” I sighed. “Guess I’ll just have to wait it out and see what’s in store for me here. And you too. Someone’s bound to be pissed off when they find you here still.” I waited for him to take the bait.

“What you mean?” My words dawned on him and he realized he was in shit deep along with me. “Man, I can pick any lock wif this here dick. How you think I got in here in the first place? Was tryin to break into the palace. Figured that princess got to have some nice things Gilly could use.” He waved his pecker at me to emphasize his point.

“Okay, fine, Gilly. Come here then. I’ll pick you up so you can bust us out of this joint. I’ll be indebted to you, my man.”

GW walked over to me, and I carefully wrapped my paw around him. Poor guy must not have had many friends. He sure trusted me fairly quickly, and something inside me warmed to the little fella. Stop being soft, Lionis. Get what you need and then eat him. You don’t need some Weasel hanging around you. “Shut the fuck up,” I said and felt Gilly stiffen in my hand. I almost dropped him; this Cat don’t roll like that, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.

“It’s cool, man. There’s this voice in my head. I don’t know who it is, you see. But it’s always trying to tell me what to do.” I shrugged my shoulders.

Gilly shrugged as best he could in my paws. “It’s cool. One of my Aunt’s cousin’s brother’s sister’s friend’s had one of them voices, too. She picked the prettiest flowers.” His eyes glazed over as he flashed back. I shook him a bit to snap him back.

“The lock, GW. We need to blow this joint.”

“Yeah, yeah right Boss. Just hold me in front of the hole there.” So I did. Gilly’s tongue came out of his mouth as he unfastened his pants and out came one of the biggest dicks I’ve ever seen, well size comparison to such a little guy. It flopped against my paw. We both stared. I looked up to Gilly, “Now what? You can pick the lock with a softy? I’d be really impressed then,” I sniggered.

He shot me a defiant look. “It just needs a little boost.” He grabbed his enormous wanker between his tiny little paws and started gyrating his hips. I stared at GW as he stroked himself. “Ahem!” He said and his eyes met mine. “Uh, man, can you give a Weasel some privacy? I mean, you don’t spect me to just pop a hard one with you watching, doin ya?”

I actually blushed, “Uh, yeah, right, okay. Sorry.” I closed my eyes. What else was I supposed to do? I had a masturbating Weasel in my paw. I think that moment would have to go down as one of the weirdest I’ve ever had.

It didn’t seem like it had been more than a minute when I heard the door swing on its hinges. I opened my eyes, and sure enough, Gilly had the lock popped and we were on our way to freedom. We went through the same shenanigans with the lock on the wooden door. “Close your eyes again, man. You don’ need knowin da Gilly’s secrets.” I obliged, of course.

You would think the palace slammer would be high security. You’d also be wrong. No one’s ever escaped— no one even knew there was a prison in the palace, except the palace inhabitants, apparently. And the countless Animals that had been there for however long it was. I wondered where the others were taken off to? Thoughts aside, slipping away was easy. GW pulled up his pants and rode on my shoulder. I warned him to keep his pecker to himself, that I didn’t want it wandering up my nostril or places it shouldn’t be. “And no pooping on my shoulder either!” I demanded.

* rap lyrics courtesy of Gilly the Weasel

D: L&L (part 97 - Dot) -- Chop Chop!

2011-10-11T17:51:00.000-07:00

The sunlight glinted off the red brick of the alley like a bright butterfly playing up and down the dark wall, a sudden change, a sudden relief from her personal gloom, and she smiled for a moment until she heard the clank of the heavy feet behind her and whirled. Toto woke up, growling in her hand -- safety off -- as she spun, falling backwards away from the grimy tin thing. She cried out as the ax grazed her exposed cheek and whooshed around in a great baseball swinging strike. Toto looked up at it and barked -- RUFF RUFF RUFF RUFF -- center mass in the silvery chest, four-round perfect grouping, a hit that would down any man. Dot landed on her back, Toto still up and growling, and looked at the expression on the tinny thing's face. It grinned and looked down at the holes in its chest where its heart should have been, then looked back at her as it raised its ax again. "Oh my! That's going to take some buffing out, I think," it said and started to laugh.

I bolted upright, trying not to scream. The dream had been so real.

Anis lay next to me, his body bathed in sweat, as mine was. The rooms here where the Mutton Chops hung out were so hot and humid I could barely sleep. But they were safe -- for now. I kept reminding myself of that. I was safe...as long as I was awake.

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to push the thoughts out of my head, listening to the hum all around me. It was soothing, even if it was Afghanistan summer hot.

The massive boilers here in the basement, I was told, created a rudimentary steam cycle two floors up that powered a conveyer belt of sorts that moved cookies and muffins and other baked goods through a collection of massive ovens -- and blah blah blah -- some sort of bakery nonsense that I had half listened to when Anis had brought us here and his friend, Spider, had shown us their new digs. It seemed the Animal House, which I'm sure was a virtual Palace of Wonders, was too expensive and too pedestrian for the Chops, so they'd moved here, where they "could suffer the horrors of decadence and denial that would lead to a musical epiphany, a soul-freeing moment of clarity that might allow them to touch the awe-ripping power of the Unnamed God" and so forth and so on until I was sure I would collapse and my brain would leak out from my ears into a green puddle on the sweaty floor. They were like hipsters on crack. I'd looked at Spider, trying to hide my total amazement at his long diatribe regarding the suffering artist, and wondered if the fact that they were getting free muffins and rooms by trading manual labor had anything to do with this desire to touch their God and be struck by musical genius in the bargain.

The muffins, however, were good. I had six of them for dinner.

Anis squirmed beside me and said something unrecognizable -- I liked to pretend it wasn't "Misty" and I wasn't going to ask even though he's said it many times in his sleep. Then he rolled over. He was still asleep. He looked peaceful and pretty much exactly like a rock band drummer would in my own world, even in Kansas. His long hair was draped over his face. His pale flesh was scarred here and there, no doubt from some EC parties that had gotten out of control, and he had a number of markings on his arm that I assumed would be Oz's counterpart to tattoos, although I didn't recognize the patterns. It seemed rock & roll was the same throughout the Universe.

I wanted to wake him, to tell him about my dream, but I was afraid. One, I didn't want to wake him because I knew he needed the sleep. Two, I didn't want to wake him because I didn't want him to see that I had tears in my eyes -- I'm supposed to be the tough one, even though he'd been trying so hard to be brave. Three, I didn't want to wake him because he was insatiable and I was still tired from last night's romp, and I liked how he made me feel but this was all really just a horrible dream anyway, and I shouldn't be feeling like this. Right? I asked myself again and again, but I never had the answer.

Right now, I just wanted to go home. I remembered that grandmother had had some red shoes that had whisked her home, and I wondered where those were. Would they fit? My feet were bigger than hers. Would they take me home, too, or was this really just a dream? Would I wake up on the floor of my kitchen with that S.O.B's eye in my hand? And if I did, where would I be then? All alone, on a farm I really didn't know how to run, in a town I didn't feel comfortable in. Here at least I had friends, if you could call them that -- an alcoholic Scarecrow, a flying monkey bat with an attitude, a crazed engineer that talks to a shovel, and a skinny drummer kid who plays for a band named after a fatty food. Not much of a family, but it wasn't first time I'd told myself that. We'd had all that in just our squad in Afghanistan, and worse.

By the way, I talk to myself now, and it's strangely comforting and completely alarming at the same time.

But what was more alarming was that ax. I reached up and touched my cheek. It was smooth, untouched by the blade, but the feeling of it in the dream had been so real. My hand had shook when I fired Toto; he felt real, too. The sound of the rounds striking that tin chest plate rang so true. And then his eerie smile and his soothing voice -- he had been so gentle in grandmother's stories. Could that really be the Tin Man she'd spoken of? He could barely hurt a fly when she'd known him. The only thing he'd ever done was smother a flame, get her some apples. And yet, here he was in my dream -- in my nightmare; let's get it right -- swinging his ax for my head with a crazed look in his eyes like he knew me. And I'd hit him square in the chest with multiple rounds, right in the...heart.

I shivered and pulled the covers up over bare chest and shoulders. What if grandmother had died while in Oz, would she had awakened in Kansas with Auntie Em? Or would she have gone down here forever and ended up in some unmarked grave in Munchkinland? Or in some dungeon in the Wicked Witch's castle? Or vanished in some plot by that corrupt and inept Wizard? I couldn't say, and I didn't want to think about it. What I needed was Anis to wake up and not have the sex drive of a horny 14-yr old. Sometimes a girl, even a girl with a weapon, just needs to be told that it's going to be okay -- even if the person telling her that is a spindly twerp of a rock band drummer with an admittedly huge drumstick, who doesn't realize he is being used, and who is probably going to his death if I can't talk him out of it.

So much had happened in the last two days. I just needed a hug, maybe a cigarette, even though I didn't smoke, some more of the bang juice, and then maybe a muffin or twelve and a quick march to the train to the get the hell out of Dodge. Dodge, as everyone knows, is in Kansas. But that wasn't to be. Tonight was the big night of the concert. Anis and Bumblers -- I liked to call them that because they seemed to just bumble around into shit and never know what they were doing -- were supposed to play Glinda's palace, and Anis of the massive drumstick was supposed to get himself invited up to the royal chambers to, um, play for the Glorious One. And then he's probably get himself killed, and the rest of the band would be out a drummer, and I'd be out -- well, I wasn't sure just yet, but something was telling him I'd be unhappy about it.

Either way, it was suicide, and if there was one thing I'd learned in Afghanistan, it was that suicide was a one-way ticket to nothing. It was nothing if not a total waste of life, time, and resources, but people still did it out of a sense of loyalty, fealty to a cause, dedication to a God, or just foolishness. And this Anis Orange kid was on his way to following in those footsteps, only he didn't even believe in the Unnamed God or the cause he'd been roped into. I'd tried to tell him that several times, and I got lots of blank stares and suggestions to get naked like he needed one last romp, and one more last romp, and yet another, to feel like he'd gotten enough out of life to let his good out in a whisp of smoke.

I looked down at him and sighed. He was a pretty boy with a lot of promise, and he was great in bed -- enthusiasm was great, but size matters. I liked how he doted on me. I liked how he stared at me when he thought I wasn't paying attention. I liked how he tried to be brave and not show how terrified he was, even when we heard that one after another the members of his revolutionary movement were turning up brutally murdered and rumors ripped through the Souther of a tik tok larger than all the rest, a man made exclusively of silvery tin and wielding a massive ax, and when he called, the ax did all the talking. I knew who that was, and dream or not, I knew that Toto was not going to get the job done. There was likely no way to stop the Tin Man. We needed to get out. We needed to find Cap, tell him it was over, and go. There was no way around it.

Suddenly the door burst it, and for a moment all I could see was tin, but it was Spider and Shiv, both talking at once, pointing back behind them, animated, screaming now to get up, kicking Anis until he blinked and sat up, trying to fend of their blows. I had the covers up over me, Toto in my right hand out of sight, as I listened to their excited ramblings, and I knew then that the Tin Man was coming.

"Cap is dead!"

"Tik toks everywhere in the Souther!"

"Big silver guy with an ax and a big fucking smile on his face!"

"Run!"

D: L&L (part 96 - Tin Man) -- 9 Crimes of the Heart

2011-10-06T12:07:00.000-07:00

She was waiting, I believe, for my axe.

Because I cannot stop I chop, I move beyond stone past the throne I have no home I could not stop I chopped.

She was waiting, shining hair in the sun, laughter tumbling from the windows, shimmering shining breaking soaking into the green grass glowing in the morning sun, softening the earth to drink her blood, their blood, my blood after I finished with her, with them, with myself. By my own hand blood splattered, doesn’t matter, moving downward let me have her let me have her let me have her

“Sir. This way, sir.” The tiny silver tik tock said, his eyes scanning the length of my body.

I stood and followed through the sifting sunlight, the dancing dust motes, the dim stones waiting in corners quiet and aching for action. The room was round, high roofed, rife with age and must. How many rooms had I been shuffled through – how many days since I received my orders? Windows were few and far between – stone and silence pressed on me from all sides, and then my hands were filled with the weight of a new axe, a heavy burden like a fifth limb, a shining breaking singing thing, glinting in the sunlight as I stepped out and away from the palace, my feet clicking along the pebble streets of the Emerald City, my body gleaming like rocks beneath the shimmering surface of a sun-kissed stream.

I looked down at the axe in my hands. Resting in my lap was a beaten leather satchel. I sat the axe to the side. It settled in the brilliant green grass.

Inside the satchel was the sheaf of paper with the names of my victims.

Victims?

She looked up and I slashed her, I had her, I took her right then, with blood streaming her screaming loud and thrumming in what was once my ears.

I took her. I took her, my beloved Nimmie Amee right then, bloody and writhing and screaming.

I stood.

Leave me out with the waste
This is not what I'd do
It's the wrong kind of place
To be thinking of you
It's the wrong time
For somebody new
It's a small crime
And I've got no excuse

Beyond the sunsplashed streets I found the path. It wound into the trees, where there was a tiny camp tucked to its knees, tents and a smoldering fire. Laughter and treeshade. A young woman, her breasts barely straining against her simple cotton dress leaned out of the folds of a tent, smiling out into the face of an equally young man, small, with a bow and quills tucked into a shaft on his back.

Is that alright?
Give my gun away when it's loaded
Is that alright?
If you don't shoot it how am I supposed to hold it
Is that alright?
Give my gun away when it's loaded
Is that alright
With you?

The young woman’s face fell as I approached, my gleaming form slipping from bright light into the dappled shade of their protected camp. Her cheeks went white, her mouth the same perfect O of terror I have come to know so very well.

Leave me out with the waste
This is not what I'd do
It's the wrong kind of place
To be thinking of you
It's the wrong time
For somebody new
It's a small crime
And I've got no excuse

“Leave,” I told the young man before he had the chance to turn.

I ran him through with his back to me, slicing though his torso from shoulder to hip, slicing him through.

Leave me out with the waste
This is not what I'd do
It's the wrong kind of place
To be cheating on you
It's the wrong time
She's pulling me through
It's a small crime
And I've got no excuse

The young woman screamed, shattering the softened silence of the sunkissed meadow.

“Why? Why? Why why why why why?” She scrambled to touch his soaked body, kiss his messy brow.

I tossed a piece of paper onto the ground near her fallen lover. It soaked into a crimson flower in an instant.

“She told me to,” I answered.

Tear-streaked, she lifted her face to mine. She trembled, shaking her head, raised her bloody fingers to her face. “Who?” She managed. “Who?”

Leave me out with the waste
This is not what I'd do

“You know who,” I whispered, turning my face away, into the sun.

Her screams lifted as I walked away, sifting up through the trees, beyond the leaves, into the orange amber shaft of the setting sun.

I saw her leaving a low building beside a man, and by her walk I could tell she’d been recently taken. Her physical appearance closely resembled that of Dorothy enough that I believed the stories now, but there was no way I’d ever mistake this woman for the one who landed a house on the Wicked Witch or wore the ruby shoes. Her walk was too self-assured, too confident, too cocky to ever be mistaken for that of timid, hesitant Dorothy. This woman carried the world on her back and enjoyed it.

It's the wrong time
She's pulling me through
It's a small crime
And I've got no excuse

I pushed away from the tree and left the area.

Not time for her yet.

Four more were easy – these “rebels” were unfortunately disorganized, but of course I went for the simple ones first. The Animals were more difficult to track.

The cats were the hardest – their sense of smell caught even my sanitized metallic scent. I took special pleasure in ripping out their claws one by one: a certain elderly black panther took a long time to die. I finally finished him off by slicing out his nostrils after hours of torture. His panting and pleading left me hollow. I washed his blood off my tin fingers in a moonlit stream, watching the blood disappear like sunlight into shade, as if it never was.

A tik tok caught up with me on the third day.

“Sir, sir,” he mumbled, stumbling over the roots of trees and dying bright flower petals. “Sir, I have word.”

I was sitting on the ground, leaning against a tree trunk, watching the ripple of water over cold silent stone. I didn’t turn.

“I never really gave her a chance,” I said.

The tiny silver metal man reached my side, grumbled as he settled beside me.

“I have no excuse,” I told him.

He turned his metal face to me, the creak of his joints giving him away. “You loved her, sir.”

I tossed a stone into the water. “I loved her so much I killed her.”

“It happens, sir.”

“I loved her so much I tore her apart.”

“She wasn’t what you thought, sir. We do what we must.”

I turned on him, her blood on my face my hands, in my mouth slipping in it, falling to my knees in her hot blood, and still I cannot feel it still I cannot feel it

“Is that what we do?” I roared, trying to snatch him up but my metal fingers scraping against his own tin frame. “Is that what we do to those we cannot rule, we cannot control, who refuse to love us as we love them?”

The tik tok shook visibly, his joints creaking and clattering. “Sir, I do not know, sir, I cannot love, sir, I have no knowledge, sir, no excuse, I do what I’m told, sir.”

Is that alright?
If I give my gun away when it's loaded
Is that alright?
If you don't shoot it, how am I supposed to hold it
Is that alright?
Is that alright
Is that alright with you?

I stared into his blank black eyes, but there was something there, something hot and bright and afraid.

“Is that alright with you?” My Nimmie Amee had screamed, tiny flower hands beating against my chest, backing me out the door into the bright sunlight. “I love him, is that alright with you? Is it the wrong time to be cheating on you? When is the right time, Nick? Nick? NICK? You’re not Nick – you’re a monster! You waste, you tin monster – you think you can come here and pluck me up after leaving me for years? I moved on – is that alright Emperor? Your Highness?”

“You bitch,” I whispered.

“You fucking monster,” Nimmie hissed back.

“You loved her, sir.”

I turned to look at him. “I don’t know what love is.”

He didn’t blink, but if he was human he wouldn’t have then, either. “I think you do now.”

The water rippled, giggling, along the rocks.

Leave me out with the waste
This is not what I'd do
It's the wrong kind of place
To be thinking of you
It's the wrong time
For somebody new
It's a small crime
And I've got no excuse

And is that alright?

I watched the little silver man, who had turned his face away, toward the water, closed his eyes, and was listening… raptly, breath held.

Tin men don’t breathe.

“What is happening to us?”

His tiny slash of a mouth, an afterthought, really, turned up at the corners.

I turned my face away, toward the sun, and listened to the water laughing among the rocks.

Nearby, my axe dulled to a brown cake, flaking into the grass.

*lyrics in italics are from 9 Crimes by Damien Rice

D: L&L (part 95 - Bunnies) -- A Cry For Help!

2011-10-03T13:23:00.000-07:00

They knew, all the Bunnies knew— Vaughn was different. He didn’t look like them, he didn’t talk like them. And now he wasn’t there with them either. Cornelly tried to shrug it off, he knew the black Bunny rarely slept—if he ever slept at all—had seen him on many occasions strolling the grounds of Bunnybury. His form a shadow moving through the darkness. Cornelly was bothered by the black Bunny’s absence; they were in a strange city, surrounded by strange Animals who couldn’t be trusted. Regardless, he also knew he needed to sleep, he could worry about Vaughn later. He just needed a little sleep.

The black, swirling, nebulous cloud that formed in the very darkest corner of the crawlspace was a terrifying apparition—a nightmare wrought from his paranoia, Cornelly was sure. But when an icy chill swept into the room, raising his hackles, sending his tail twitching— he knew it was no dream. He drew himself upright on full alert, watched as the smoke quickly took form then felt shocked by the materialization of Vaughn. He wanted to close his eyes, pretend to be asleep, but it was too late, he found himself staring into the black, soulless eyes of the dark one, who in turn was staring back at him. Cornelly shivered from the cold and from the intense fear that was building in his gut. Vaughn made no excuses, no pretenses as he stood staring at Cornelly.

Cornelly twitched his nose, knocking the icicles from his whiskers. Surely anything that cold, that devoid of light had to be evil. “Who…who are you?” Cornelly inquired, unable to help his fascination with the creature, it couldn’t possibly be a real Bunny. He pulled himself up from his spot on the floor, his battle-injured joints aching.

“That’s a silly question, Cornelly. I am Vaughn.” Sharp, white teeth stood in stark contrast against the jet black fur when he spoke. How could he have been so naïve? How could he have not noticed the evil that lived within the creature?

Cornelly slowly approached —cautious, aging, hippity-hops. He moved towards Vaughn, his eyes wide with wonder yet filled with fear. “Yes, so you say. But… what are you? I saw your smoke.” He didn’t dare draw any closer. He knew a secret now, and if he’d learned anything over his years, it’s that secrets can get you killed.

“I am a Bunny, like you, but not like you,” Vaughn answered

“No,” Cornelly’s voice quivered, falling to a whisper, “you are not like us at all.” He reached out to touch the ebony fur, he needed to know he wasn’t in a dream, because it was all too unreal. He was sure he’d touch the odd one before him, and just as he had appeared in smoke, he’d disappear just as fast. That’s how dreams—nightmares even—happened, right?

Vaughn saw the horrifying fear across Cornelly’s face. How could he explain, when even he didn’t know why he was—or how he was. He had no recollection of parents, no memories of being a young Bunny. He just was. He knew he was the guardian, that much was clear. But he couldn’t tell anyone his secret. Not even the Bunnies that took him in and offered him a home. He had his mission, he was sworn to protect the essence of his mistress. He could trust no one.

“Explain yourself, Vaughn,” Cornelly demanded.

“I can’t. But I am no threat to you.”

“This is ludicrous!” Cornelly hollered, turning to wake the others. “Boys! Seize him!”

The troop shot awake, alarmed by the distress in their leader’s voice and leaped across the room looking for the threat. Fizzle stopped half-way across the nearly rotted floor boards of the crawlspace they converted into a temporary base camp. “Uhhh, who are we seizing?” He asked, his voice laced with confusion.

Cornelly rolled his eyes in frustration, pointed his white paw at Vaughn and said, “That one… Vaughn. He just appeared out of a cloud of black smoke, he’s no ordinary bloke. He’s evil deep down inside, quickly, grab him, skin his hide!”

Fizzle twitched his nose, “Dad, are you sure you weren’t fast asleep, because taking down Vaughn—well, it’s going to be a pain in the ass.”

“You’re going to disobey a direct order?” Cornelly asked loudly, trying his best not to resort to the old language. “Now hop to it! Vaughn is hereby charged with…oh who cares! Don’t let him get away.”

The troop of white Bunnies pounced on Vaughn, their fur a tangled mish mash of monochromatic black and white. Vaughn put up no resistance, he knew it was going to have to happen eventually. He was too different, something was bound to come to light, or dark, as it were.

“By the Gods! What are you?” Cornelly asked.

“I am one of you. I am a Bunny. I can just do things you guys can’t. My mistress made me, she called upon me to,” Vaughn closed his mouth and refused to say another word. He’d already said too much, and as much as he wanted to tell his…family…the truth, he couldn’t. What kind of danger would that wrought upon them?

“Your mistress? Who is your mistress? You’re obviously of some dark magical creation. Did Glinda send you to spy on us? Well I have news for your mistress—we are no longer her little pets! She’ll see what her cute little Bunnies can do, once we get into the palace.” Cornelly’s whiskers were vibrating with his anger. A spy! The bitch sent a spy to them. Vaughn had probably been at the palace telling the witch of their plans to get the mirror. How much did he tell her?

“You were out tonight, where were you? Visiting her royal nugget, Glinda? How much did you tell her?” Cornelly pulled a green bean from his boot and pointed it at Vaughn. “I know how to use this! Now talk!”

Vaughn turned his head to look at Cornelly…

THUMPITY-THUMP-THUMP-THUMPITYTHUMP-THUMP-THUMP — the message blared out from the contraption set up in the center of their make shift camp. On their first outing into the swamps, the Bunnies had discovered a copse of trees, bleached gray from the sun—dead—more casualties of Glinda’s neglect. The trunks of the trees were covered in deep scars, like those of the warriors, and the Bunnies thought the broken, dead creatures were once the Treesels of lore they’d heard about— giant, fighting trees that helped to once defend the kingdom. It came to light that knocking on the branches of the same fallen trees, sound would carry from one broken branch to another. Upon further testing and theories, the Bunnies found that distance didn’t matter. They brought pieces of the great warriors back to Bunnybury with them. In time, they’d developed a Bunny code, a sequence of thumps that could be easily translated by the receiver. The Bunnies were proud of their invention, and it was often used to entertain the children who loved to play warrior Bunny with them.

Vaughn’s fear grew deeper as he watched a look of rage form across the General’s face. Cornelly’s whiskers started twitching, his nose twinked. “Thumpio silence!! I ordered thumpio…” One of his ears fell as the anger melted away to be replaced with the fear again. Vaughn didn’t understand.

“ There is an emergency situation in Bunnybury.”

The troop stood listening to the message. K-I-N-G I-N D-A-N-G-E-R…N-E-E-D H-E-L-P N-O-W…

Juple, who was just waking up, stood low to the ground, eyes peeled, his carrot jousting in his hand, “I’ll cut you bitches, where the fuck are you?” He noticed everyone staring at him, “Wha…what?” He straightened, sensing the seriousness of the situation, then noticed Vaughn tied up in the corner. “Damn, what I miss now?”

Cornelly ignored Juple’s foolishness, “Men, we have trouble in Bunnybury. It’s under attack. Pip just broke thumpio silence to send a desperate plea for help. It seems a gang of some sort slaughtered the Keeper, broke down the Golden Gate and is now holding the entire town hostage. Luckily Pip got away.” Cornelly was pretty sure that’s what the message said, or something like that anyways. “The King’s life is in danger, we have to get back to Bunnybury as fast as we can.”

The General’s announcement had the others in an uproar, they were mumbling and cursing among themselves. Fizzle spoke up first, “Uhhh Dad, errr I mean, Sir… How are we supposed to get back to Bunnybury fast enough to save them? There’s no way we can, by the time we’ll get there all of Bunnybury will be slaughtered, and I’ll bet they steal the remainder of our carrot crop too!”

Vaughn stepped forward, his paws bound in front of him. He didn’t mind as long as the others felt safe for the moment, especially Cornelly. He should have been smarter, should have scanned the room before he appeared. Perhaps there was a part of him wanting to get caught, tired of holding on to a secret, but that didn’t matter now. There was trouble in Bunnybury, his home, his family was in danger. “I can help. I can save the King,” he offered. He eyed Cornelly who was looking directly at him.

“Yeah, like I’m going to let you what, puff out of here? You’re a spy for the bitch, now just shut up and stay out of this. This is Bunny business.”

“Cornelly, don’t be a fool. You saw what I can do, I’m the only one who can save the King! I want to save the King! Now let me go!” Vaughn argued.

“Can you really save our King, Vaughn?” He asked, desperate for any kind of help. He couldn’t allow more Bunnies to get slaughtered, not while he still lived. It just couldn’t happen again.

“I can,” Vaughn stated, then disappeared into a swirling smoke cloud that left the troop stunned. They all turned to Cornelly for explanation.

He started back at all of them, “I’d like to say I can explain, but I don’t think I can, I’m not too sure about it myself…as long as he can save the King, who gives a Monkey’s ass what the hell he is.”

D: L&L (part 94 - Crow) -- A Nebraskan Crow in King Charlie's Court (part one)

2011-09-29T12:41:00.000-07:00

That went well, I thought, all things considered. I’d managed to get some information from Ernie, the fastest Bunny Barkeep in the West, successfully drugged Fiyero with my beak (which I had conveniently dipped in a brew I’d made especially for moments such as these), thereby removing a rather drunk and over-bearing scarecrow – albeit temporarily – from what could have been an embarrassing situation. The poor boy is no use when he’s inebriated – and that’s exactly how I wanted him to be: drunk and stoned.

I knew a few people back in the day who’d spent their lives this way. Nothing good ever came of them; nothing bad, either. Drugs can be a necessary evil when used in proper doses. I just hoped I used the proper dose. Oh well, I’d find out later. Now where was I? Oh yes, back to Ernie and his news.

‘So tell me about Vaughn, then,’ I said to the barkeep. ‘How soon will he be here?’

Quite suddenly (and without provocation on my part, I assure you) his attitude toward me went from professional civility to downright nastiness. Sentient minds are all the same, dear reader, they can change opinions quicker than a racing car takes a corner at the Indianapolis 500. Ernie reached underneath the counter and produced the strangest looking weapon (at least I think it was a weapon) I had ever seen. It appeared to be a cross between an old musket and an egg whisk. I didn’t know whether I was going to be shot or turned into a feathered meringue. Either way, the situation didn’t look good for me and my comatose companion. Once again, I asked myself whether coming back was worth all the bother.

‘We’re on to you,’ Ernie said, pointing the contraption first at me then at Fiyero’s prone body. Seeing that the Scarecrow wasn’t going to cause much in the way of a threat, Ernie pointed his Bunny blunderbuss back to me. ‘You didn’t think,’ he continued, ‘that you’d get away with entering our town illegally, did you?’

‘Who’s this “we” you’re talking about?’ I asked our friendly neighbourhood hostage-taker. ‘And if you’re accusing us of a crime – one, I might say, we have no knowledge of committing, then I demand our right to a fair hearing of our peers.’ That should shut him up, I thought. Nothing like a little assertiveness and authority to put the wind up these bloody Bunnies. Did he know who I was?

‘The “we” would be us,’ said a voice from behind me. I turned my head and found myself faced by the Bunny equivalent of the Green Berets. There were five of them in total, all decked out in…hello?...they were female Bunnies. They were wearing fucking tutus, for crying out loud. Was this the local militia or a travelling ballet troupe? The fact that none of them were armed caused me to sigh with relief. I figured I’d fly around them and peck them with the same drug that put out Fiyero. If Ernie could manage holding off shooting his load, for fear of hitting one of his own, then I reckoned I could escape quite easily.

‘We know what you’re thinking, crow,’ the leading “lady” said in a pitch so high it could crack glass. ‘We have all angles of escape covered, haven’t we girls?’ She looked around and gave a swift nod of her head. With that, the other four Bunnies hopped from where they were standing and landed on top of me like a ton of furry bricks. In knew people back in the day who would’ve gotten their kicks from being in such a situation – but there’s a time and a place for everything, I believe.

Try as I might to peck my way out of trouble, the damn Bunnies had me blocked. One of them produced a filthy rag and tied my beak together, but not before rubbing it clean. Another bound my wings to my side. I was helpless. In less time than it took to tell you about it, my dear understanding reader, I went from being in a position of power to one of submission. I was wrapped up tighter than a parcel from UPS.

‘What shall we do with the other one?’ a Bunnygirl asked her leader.

‘Ernie can drag him, Trudy,’ she replied, slapping my feet with her own. Whoever said rabbit’s feet were lucky should be taken out and executed without mercy. Bastards. She leaned down and looked me in the eye. ‘Welcome to Bunnybury, Mr Crow, we do hope you’ll enjoy your time here.’ She stood up and straightened herself. With a shuffle of her tail she turned around and marched out.

Trudy hopped over to Ernie. ‘Follow us with that thing,’ she said.

‘To the palace?’ he asked.

‘Where else? The King is waiting – and he’s out for blood.’

Lovely, I thought. Fucking lovely.

D: L&L (part 93 - Narrator) -- What the Shiz? (part two)

2011-09-21T18:28:00.000-07:00

Now I lay me down to sleep,

Ozma my soul to keep,

If I die before I wake,

Oz's angel my soul to take.

The words tripped through the mind of Ordinal Jones, the leader of the The Shiz, as his eyes fluttered in the quiet dark. It was a lullaby that his mother had told him long ago, long before he had started running, long before Shiz University had appeared on the horizon, and what seemed like a hundred lifetimes now as he wondered about a death that seemed to be coming all too early in life.

What Cloe had said only the day before had cast Ordinal's soul into the fabled Ice Caverns of Urn. He was frozen inside at the reality of it, something that he had never contemplated. What young man contemplates his own death? Invincibility is the watchword of the young, and yet, here was something unexpected: the end. Here it was - not yet staring him in the face - but waiting around some corner at the tip of a poisoned blade or at the long cruel end of the water torture. They'd all heard the rumors. Glinda's secret police, led by her most dangerous servant, Master Alden, was infamous - infamous for their cruelty, their ingenuity, their thoroughness in rooting out her enemies. And now, it seemed, Ordinal was counted as one. And they were coming for him.

If they knew about him.

He sat in the window seat only a few yards from the very window that had belched out Dr. Na-Na's body only a week before, and looked out on the courtyard below. He was sure for a moment that he could still see the chalk outline of the old Goat's body, but when he blinked, it was gone again. His head dipped uncontrollably, but he caught himself before slumped into the window pane. All he wanted was to go to sleep, but he knew he couldn't. They would come for him if he did. He knew it. As soon as his eyes closed, and his head hit the pillow, they would burst in and snatch him, dragging him away to some nightmarish prison, some underground tomb, where they would wrench every answer from him one scream at a time. Little tinny hands would pull him down into the darkness and throw him in some dank cell, their eyes glowing green like emeralds.

It had been more than a day since he'd slept, terrified since his first encounter with Cloe to surrender to sleep and the terror of waking in chains or with a knife blade at his throat. Luckily - although he could hardly call it luck now - she had been more than willing to keep his mind (and body) occupied, keep him up and moving, and keep him from sleep. He looked out across the shadowy room to the bed and saw her naked form sprawled out. The covers had slipped completely from the bed, and he traced her form for the millionth time from head to toe, examining each perfect limb, each magnificent dimple, each alluring flaw, but he could find no true fault. Her mind had run free-wheeling through the socio-economic policies touted by Dr. Hawking, traipsed through the impact of the rumored rebellion on Shiz University, then slowly sauntered into the repercussions of a rebel movement beyond the school to encompass all of Gillikin, her homeland, down to the EC and beyond.

Her intellect, he realized, was staggering - beauty and brains - as was her energy, and he found himself unsure whether his own fear and trepidation was the cause of his exhaustion, purely the lack of sleep, or her stamina both in conversation and in bed. At the end of the day yesterday, as they'd walked along the path between the botany studies and geological studies buildings, she suddenly reached out and grabbed his hand. He'd let her take it, already sure she could have it for as long as she liked, and hoped that she wouldn't give it back anytime soon. She hadn't, and she'd kissed him before the sun had gone down. They'd kissed like a couple of schoolyard lovebirds in front of the fountain on the main quad, and for a moment he forgot that a shadow was looming over him. She'd whispered something he'd never heard before - "You are such a good listener" - and kissed him full on the mouth before he could bashfully thank her for the odd comment that was simply a result of him being utterly overwhelmed by the day's events. When she pressed into him, he was sure they would tumble into the water, but he braced himself and kissed back. It was heavenly, like falling into a jasmine-scented bed of feathers.

They'd skipped dinner, making for her dorm room, her dragging him and he not fighting it. Both were hungry, but neither felt the need to eat. It was more than what he needed - to relinquish responsibility for the moment - and exactly what he wanted - to forget his worries and fall into the arms of a longed-for love. The presence of her roommate almost ruined the moment, but Ordinal was quick on his feet, as addled as he was, and proposed a place that no one would go and no one would find them. Perhaps there, he thought, he would find some peace and quiet between the moments of passionate love that he was already imagining.

Dr. Na-Na's key was firmly in his trouser pocket now. He'd known just where to find it, and he'd been exactly right in expecting the place to be abandoned. The doctor's two-story flat was a duplex with a private entrance, and all they needed to do was duck the caution tape and open the door. The place was theirs. He was safe - at least he hoped he was, but all he could do now was sit in the window seat and look out, ever watching for the shadows to surround the house and engulf him.

Now I lay me down to sleep,

Ozma my soul to keep,

If I die before I wake,

Oz's angel my soul to take.

A moment later, a hand fell on his naked shoulder, and he nearly burst through the glass, but before he even turned, he could smell the jasmine. "Come to bed, lover; I can't sleep," Cloe whispered. "Forget Ozma; I will keep you safe for the night."

D: L&L (part 92 - Dot) -- Bang Juice

2011-09-20T20:18:00.000-07:00

Now what?

I was getting tired of the thought, but it just wouldn't go away. Now what? The corn squeezings, or as Hi-Joe had insisted on calling it, Bang Juice, "on account o' when you drink too much of it, you go bang on the floor", was going down easy now, and for once in however many days it had been since I'd arrived, I had time on my hands and time to think.

The thoughts of Kansas and those assholes who'd come along that fateful night and tried to rape me were still fresh in my mind, when I'd had a second to think back to that other world, but it still seemed like it was years ago that I was sitting there with her iPod waiting for the storm to come rock the house that night. They'd gotten what they deserved, of course, but it didn't matter now. Now I was elsewhere. It was a deployment that I'd not been prepared for. Luckily I had remembered Alice and Toto, and luckily I liked tromping and stomping around the farm in my fatigues and combat boots, else I might be here in my usual ratty old Led Zeppelin Physical Graffiti t-shirt and a pair of black boyshorts. I wasn't sure how the whole transition thing worked from Kansas to Oz, but I was glad I'd not had to leave in just a dress with a small picnic basket and pigtails.

I snickered a little at the thought, then frowned. I didn't like making fun of grandma; well, not now anyhow. She had known things I hadn't thought were possible, and now I was feeling somewhat embarrassed and wishing I could apologize for doubting her. She deserved at least as much as that.

I took another sip of the Bang Juice and swallowed. It was bitter, but like pinching yourself to make sure you aren't dreaming, I knew the bitterness was a kind of reminder that I was in a whole new world. I wasn't in Kansas anymore, and I wasn't sure I liked it. I had yet to fire Toto in anger, but I could feel it building underneath my skin with every sip.

Anis sat across from me, gorging himself on what indeed looked like a deep fried mutton chop. I'd been assured it had not come from a Lamb -- I'd had to ask; I couldn't help myself. The idea though was somewhat disturbing, and for a few minutes with that thought in my head I was sure I'd never eat meat again, but the idea of being a vegetarian was not really appealing -- it certainly wasn't a Kansas thing to do -- and before long the smell of it made my mouth water. It was shortly thereafter that I realized I was absolutely starving.

The day had been long, the meeting long (and rather appalling), and the walk afterward had been long and awkward. Anis had been jittery, and I myself had been in a sort of daze. I had been part of a war, battling an insurgency, fighting against a group of militants who were trying to take over a nation and willing to kill anyone who stood in their way. They had at least believed in something, but when I looked at Anis, I could tell that he really didn't believe, and I wasn't sure if Cap did either. I recalled the orders he gave, and I could not help wanting to shake my head to clear out the cobwebs that I was sure were clouding my brain. There's no way, I told myself over and over, that he told this kid gto go back to the palace, play multiple sets like it was nobody's business, then casually be called up to the bed chamber of the most dangerous woman in the realm and kill her dead. Who could ask that of him?

I was sure he'd piss his pants when Cap said it. I was sure of it. In fact, I remembered stepping back when I heard it - I was not only completely shocked, but the sheer idea of an assassination hit me like a Mack truck, and I stepped back like I could feel the force of his words on my chest. I had a few choice things at that moment to say, but I held on to them. It was no good cursing - not polite for starters, but I wasn't sure if my curses would mean anything here. There was no telling what they said when they were pissed, excited, surprised, or scared, and some of the things I'd learned to say in the Marines just weren't for polite company, even if said polite company was planning a killing. Plus it just wasn't my place; this wasn't even my world, after all, and who was to say that I wouldn't be magically whisked away home to Kansas at any minute?

So, what did I do? Nothing. What did I say? Nothing. They talked; we walked. We walked for hours afterward and I didn't know what to say. I only knew that I needed to stay close to a comrade-in-arms and watch his back because he was wide-eyed and muttering to himself the whole time. There was something about a concert, and I was sure he said "boobs", a mention of a Lion, the drums, drumsticks, Cap, blood, killing, and then a whole lot of nothing about a Nameless God - no idea who that god is, but at this point I'm guessing he's someone important. We walked, he talked, and then before you know it, we were back at the Iron Furnace and we were throwing down shots of Bang Juice. Anis inhaled his first deep fried mutton chop and worked his second not so much with precision and enthusiasm as with the slow hand of a drunk boy. I giggled and stared and wished I could have some myself, but for whatever reason I wasn't up for food. I was starving, but I wasn't hungry. I just slammed another shot and motioned to Hi Joe for another round until the room started to spin.

We were both shocked more than we could manage - even me, and I had seen people killed, had a number of kills on my record and blood on my hands, even seen women and children dead from suicide bombs or misguided drone attacks. Still, I was not prepared for the violence that this boy was expected to carry out, and all I could think of was forgetting it, forgetting Oz, the silly Scarecrow, that flying monkey bat, the disturbed engine man on the YBR, the shadows in the forest, the zombified Munchkins, and on and on, a list longer than a Kansas man can see in March, and there ain't a damn thing to see in Kansas in March, except Colorado.

An hour later I found myself really starving, desperate for something, my mouth on his mouth, my body pressed against his, our bodies underneath the thin sheet that covered my bed, my heart thundering in my ears, my fingers in his hair, my head swimming with that damned Bang Juice, and then fireworks like you see around midnight at the state fair.

D: L&L (part 91 - Lion) -- Silver-Tongued Weasel

2011-09-13T16:43:00.000-07:00

The King of Beasts paced back and forth, back and forth. He’d never been a caged Animal before. He felt confined, trapped and about to go crazy. Ha! Crazy Lionis? You’re already crazy you stupid fool. “Shut the hell up, I’ve already told you.” Lionis spoke.

The Animals that were locked in the cell with the Lion were all huddled in a back corner, the corner where the black Bunny had made his appearance. They shook and quivered at the crazy beast before them. That crazy Cat fucker kept looking their way, giving them all the squinty, stank eye. Normally no one put up with that shit in the slam, but the big mofo had taken down the Bear. Holy fucking shit on that! Ain’t no fucker was gonna mess with that Cat. Every now and then, he’d mutter for them to shut up, or to ask, “Who the fuck asked you?” None of them knew what the fuck that whack job was talking about; they’d just agree, or say whatever to pacify the beast. None of prisoners in Dungeon 9 wanted to be Cat food.

The Lion stopped his pacing and faced the corner; the group huddled closer together. “You little furry fuck!!” The Lion roared and grabbed up one of his cellmates, biting his head off. He quickly spat the little Animal’s head out, feathers and beak and all . “Fuck!! This don’t taste like fucking Bunny! What the fuck? This tastes like fucking Chicken! I hate fucking Chicken!” The Lion glanced at the body in his hand and dropped it in disgust. The headless body of the Chicken got up and began running around the cell everyone except the Lion watching in rapt fascination until the little body collapsed onto its side.

A skinny Weasel stepped forward out of the pack. It stunk. It shook almost uncontrollably. It shit itself just as it started speaking. “Uhh Sir, if you don’t want the Chicken, may I – uh – chicken is my favorite thing, and the Bear he protected that clucking fuck. But I tells ya, Boss, I’d have eaten him sooner.”

The Lion glanced down at the Weasel, his heart warming toward the little fella with him calling him “Boss” – just like Cu’ used to do. “What’s your name, runt?”

“They call me Gilly the Wonder Weasel, mainly because of the size of my dick. Wanna see?”

“No, man.. NO! I don’t want to see your dick. And yes, you can have the Chicken, GW. Help yourself, I can’t stand that nasty shit.”

The Lion watched as the Wonder Weasel devoured the Chicken, cleaning up every last drop. “You ever seen a black Bunny, GW?”

GW glanced at the crazy Cat, “Naw, Man. I ain’t never seen one of them. Do they taste as good as the white ones?”

“I don’t know GW, but I want to find out. I need to get some sleep. You cover my ass, and you won’t be next; I don’t want any more surprises when I wake up.”

“Sure Boss. We cool then, huh? Ole Gilly will get your back, man.” The Weasel said excitedly.

“And GW?” The Lion said catching GW’s attention, “Watch out for that furry, black fuck. He’s lurking somewhere. He’s like smoke man – smoke and magic, I even got his shit on my paws, see?” The Lion stretched his paws out to Gilly. The Weasel sniffed, then licked.

“That’s some strange shit, man… some really strange shit.” The Lion was out by the time GW finished talking. He looked around the cell feeling safe for the first time in a while. The Bear had fancied the Chicken and tried to hurt Gilly because he wouldn’t put out like a bitch. “Things are looking up, Gilly, things are looking up.”

The rest of the inmates started making their way out of the corner, feeling they could breathe with the Beast asleep. Gilly watched them all, all sheep waiting for slaughter and they didn’t even know it. A shadow flashed in the back of the crowd, Gilly ran over to see what it was. He was greeted with a flume of black smoke that smelled like the shit on the Lion’s paws. “How bout that shit?” GW pondered.

D:L&L (part 90 -- Bunnies) -- Uninvited Guests

2011-09-12T19:54:00.000-07:00

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!” Pip hollered as he scampered through the King’s court. He was a small Bunny, smaller than most, perhaps a little high strung, but he always meant well.

King Charles didn’t hear Pip’s miniscule voice over the jingle of tambourines the Friskered Whiskers used while they entertained. You’d also be hard pressed to pull the King’s attention from the six most beautiful Bunnies in all of Bunnybury, dancing around in their sheer, royal purple dancing skirts, matching tops that barely covered the still pert nipples and the come-hither flicks of a Frisker’s whisker, dyed to match the traditional costume of the dancers. There was more to the Whisker gals than met the eye though, they were also the most feared warriors of all Bunnybury. As long as there had been a king on the throne of Bunnybury, there were the Whisker girls. Afterall, a King needed bodyguards to protect his royal, fuzzy tail.

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!” Pip continued to cry as he ran up to the King’s throne in a tizzy. The poor little fella was so upset that he completely disregarded the proper manners for approaching the King. He was immediately set upon by half-naked females. If he hadn’t been so afraid, he might have enjoyed the moment.

“Your Majesty, please!!” Pip begged from beneath the mound of silky, white fur and purple chiffon. “Your Majesty, there are intruders within the walls!”

“Don’t be silly, Pip. No one can get into Bunnybury without approval. You know this!” King Charles stated nonchalantly as he gazed down at Pip from atop his throne. One of the whisker’s skirts had flown up when Pip had been brought down, Charles’ pink eyes were drawn to the firmly developed muscle on the female’s hindquarter. Imagine what that girl could do, he thought, smiling stupidly. The girl caught the King’s stare and lowered her eyes seductively, acting as if she were a shy girl, just how he liked it.

“NoooOO Your Majesty, you must listen. Ernie has the two intruders captured at the bar. They won’t be going anywhere for a while. They claim to be supporters of she whom we don’t name. They ask too many questions, sir.” Pip nodded his head rapidly as he spoke. “May I be released now, sir?”

“Oh… huh? Yes, yes. Ladies, let little Pip up. Thank you for your quick responses, I know you need the practice, because who would try to kill me? I mean, truly. King of the Bunnies. What a joke.” He raised his royal carrot as he spoke the words, his head dropping to his chest in shame. Pip felt sure he had been drinking again.

“About these strangers, Pip, let’s go see about them.” King Charles bounded down from his throne, hopped casually across the white marble floor of his court, and out of the golden door. The evening lights were on, highlighting the common’s four-tiered fountain in a rainbow of color. The two made their way across the courtyard, bouncing easily over the cool, white, marbled pathways that wound through barren trees and dirt patches where delicious, green, grass once grew.

At one time the trees had easily helped feed the population of Bunnybury, now they were picked clean at the first signs of frutation. A treat offered as first come first serve. The grasses had long been killed off by gluttonous Bunnies that believed the grasses would grow forever. Now, as the Bunny population seemed to be growing out of control, they had to ration the food portions, or they’d all surely starve to death. Carrots were grown on the east side of Bunnybury where the park used to be. Now it is a sectioned off farm field only accessible by those who farmed the land.

King Charles had once sent out a scouting party—out to the nether regions— on Cornelly’s suggestion. He didn’t want to endanger any Bunnies, but as Cornelly had stated, they were on the brink of starvation, something had to be done. Charles was thankful when most of the squadron made it back alive. Unfortunately their ventures brought no gain. The lands surrounding Bunnybury were marshy and filled with vicious creatures. The squadron leader, Machiavelli said on their first day out they had encountered the sucking ground. They’d almost lost Trigger; if not for Smithon’s quick thinking... They’d bunkered in the trunk of an old, dead tree that night, and for the next three days, slept in shifts because of all the strange noises.

On day five, Flicker had disappeared. That evening they had gone out exploring, trying to find food. Initially the presence of the creature was sensed more than seen. The feeling of being stalked was prevalent among the group. They stopped, gazing with their pink eyes, trying to find the impending threat. Then they saw it — the two firey-orange eyes staring from the reeds — they all froze, waiting for the threat to pass. They could hear the tall, inedible, saw grasses around them shifting from whatever creature lurked in the darkness. They were all frightened. A shadow rose above them, blocking out the little light they had from the glowing moon. It loomed closer and closer at a steady pace and seemed to float above them. Then came the sound that sent the entire troop scattering and running for cover – a loud, piercing screech that seemed to explode out of the silent darkness. Then all became quiet again as the troop stayed frozen in their hiding places, unable to move, paralyzed by fear. Never had they encountered anything like the spirit of the black. When the sun rose the next morning, the Bunnies began to carefully emerge from their hidey-holes. Two of the Bunnies reported feeling a gust of wind at their backs before they were able to dive into the shelter of a thorny bush. No one could find Flicker. He seemed to have vanished into thin air, a strange brown, spotted thing had been found where Flicker had last been seen. Captain Machiavelli had never seen the likes of it before, and stuck it in the band of his tall, velvet, green and mud stained uniform hat for safe keeping. Perhaps they would discover what it was that took Flicker one day.

The report of the outing was disheartening. Not only was Flicker gone, but there were no foods found that could help sustain the growing population of Bunnies. The future looked grim for them since Glinda had abandoned them, and they had no source of help. But they were determined to find a way.

As King Charles and Pip crossed the courtyard, Charles began to feel nervous. Could what Pip was saying be true? Were there strangers in Bunny bury? If so, how did they get in? Why did the Keeper not call for him? “Pip, has anyone checked the gate or talked to the Keeper?” Charles inquired.

Pip had a momentary pause in his hop, a confounded look crossed his face, “Uhh, no Majesty, not that I’m aware of. You don’t think something has happened to the Keeper do you?”

“I don’t know, Pip. I don’t know. Everyone has been cleared out of the bar correct?”

“Yes, Sir, all except Ernie, Sir.” Pip exclaimed, feeling he had done something right his King would be proud of.

They quietly approached the barroom doors, peering in through a crack of a slightly open door. King Charles withdrew quickly at the sight of the two peculiar strangers sitting there.

“Pip, you must quickly return to my court. I need four Friskered Whiskers to meet me here, and you go with the other two to the front gate to see what is happening there. Something is afoot, Pip. Hop to it.”

Pip scampered as fast as he could back to the King’s palace and tore into the court yelling, “Wer’e on alert!! We’re being attacked! The King needs help!” The Whiskers surrounded him threateningly.

“Pip, you must slow down, you’re acting like a total clown,” BellaTrude said in a calm voice.

“Yes, Pip, tell us what’s gone down, stop going round and round?” BellaTwinkle followed.

Pip eyed the two quizzically, “Where the two of you just rhyming? Oh nevermind , but yes, yes. Let me think. By the unknown God I need a drink. The King said he wanted four of you to meet him at the tavern. There are strangers, just as I stated. And two of you are to come with me to find the Keeper of the Wicket, because these two unknowns have no permission to be in our fair city – none, nope, no note, no letter, no permission and that is our most important mission!” Pip prattled out.

BellaTella wrinkled her purple, whiskered, Bunny nose, “Enough of that rhyming Pip, that shit makes us sick, sick, sick.”

They all eyed each other suspiciously, it must be the stress that had them resorting to the old language. Glinda loved it when they rhymed for her. Then she’d dress them all in their lovely attire, green and gold trim, and would watch them and talk to them for hours upon hours while they danced and frolicked amid the flowers. They’d all been thinking the same thing and shrugged away the painful memories of the past.

“Let’s go!”

BellaTwinkle, BellaTella, BellaTrixie and BellaTrilly all bounded out of the palace and to the tavern as fast as possible, and as Friskered Whiskers, they were the fastest. Although specially trained and ready for combat, they’d never had to fight a day in their lives, turned instead into belly dancing girls for the cowardly King. They saw him standing at the door quaking with fear or perhaps withdrawal. Who knew these days? The King motioned them into silence with the wave of his paw and cracked the door for them to peek in. The girl’s eyes widened at the sight of the strawman and the black bird that sat on the white marble bar.

BellaTrudy and BellaTandy hopped with Pip to the front gate of the kingdom. The Keeper was nowhere to be found. “Where can he be?” Pip asked.

“Hell if we could know; we were entertaining, giving the king a sexy show,” BellaTandy spouted.

Pip rolled his eyes, a curse that Glinda set upon them? That could be the only explanation of the silly timing of the rhyming.

“Tandy, Trudy, open his station. Let’s look around and see if we can find identification.”

“Here’s a tip. Just use your key, Pip,” Trudy said.

“I have no key, you see? There is no key except the one the Keeper had. It’s for safety, you know?”

Tandy and Trudy examined the door and decided they could get through. Good thing the wood had weakened with time. They hopped back, measuring the distance they thought they’d need to accomplish the task and leaped at the door, hind feet extended in front of them. The great wooden door shattered under their powerful attack. Pip was impressed, a bit turned on as well. Perhaps they could all get together later, he thought.

When they entered the Keeper’s station, all thoughts of Bunny-bumpin – well most thoughts anyway – were swiftly extinguished by the blood splatters streaked across the Keeper’s floor and along the walls.

“Tandy, Trudy, get to the King now!” all rhyming and thoughts of hot Bunny sex gone. “You guard him with your lives!! Get him away from those two murderous fiends. Oh, dear, how could this have happened? We have to get word to Cornelly. I have to go beat feet to the EC! Go girls, Now!!”

Pip scampered back to the Bunny war-room, which had been used mostly for games of five card Rabbit and drinking pale ale. The thumpio station was still kept operable. Pip quickly cranked up the power, stood on the thump mat and began drumming out a message with his hind leg, a message for Cornelly. They had to know what was happening in Bunnybury. Pip knew Cornelly would be angry that he broke thumpio silence, but he’d be angrier if Pip didn’t contact him for the emergence situation. THUMPTHUMP—two—THUMPTHUMPITYTHUMPTHUMP—intruders—THUMPITYTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP—Keeper dead—THUMPTHUMPTHUMTHUMP—King in danger!—THUMPTHUMPTHUMPITY—Awaiting instruction—THUMP—END—and Pip waited.

D: L&L (part 89 - Scarecrow) -- Buried in Bunnybury

2011-09-11T13:18:00.000-07:00

‘Why are we here?’ I asked my companion, The Crow formerly known as The Wizard of Oz (or should that be The Crow Wizard?) I would have to come up with a suitable name for him/it soon, otherwise my freshly reformed straw head would melt.

‘What are you asking me for?’ the Crow said. ‘I had a cunning plan in place, all contingencies accounted for.’

‘Except this one.’

‘Yes,’ the crow replied. ‘All except for this one. What do you know about Bunnybury?’

‘You tell me,’ I retorted. ‘You were the Wizard after all.’

‘I paid little if any attention to this place when I was on the throne, Fiyero.’

‘Pretty much describes me, then.’

Once we had gotten our bearings (which meant me re-acclimatising myself with my familiar body shape, Diggs with his ruffled black feathers, and both of us suddenly much smaller than we’d ever been – silly Bunnies and their magic!) we passed through the town gates and found a bar.

Yes, I was drinking again – finding myself one-third my size was freaking me out a little – but I was going to control my intake this time. I realised that there was more going on than just Dot’s ancestor returning to Oz and causing bloody mayhem. I wondered for her safety. Was Turlo still keeping an eye on her? Was she keeping to the plan and heading to Emerald City? How much did Glinda know?

Speaking of the Good Bitch, there were posters of her all around the town as we walked through. It seemed there was a celebration of sorts going down in the EC: a week of festivities to commemorate the Glorious One. Had anything else happened while I was out of town? I wondered. Were Lion and Tin Man by her side, keeping the unclean masses on their toes? Was there an army of tik tok men patrolling the streets, looking for signs of insurgency among the people and Animals?

Was the Wizard now an Animal? Now there was a thought to gladden the hearts and minds of philosophers at the Academy.

The Crow pecked me. ‘Get two more drinks, will you? I’m having trouble drinking through a straw. I’m losing more than I’m drinking.’ I called the barkeep over. He was a Bunny, naturally – tall for his kind, almost as tall as me now if you considered the ears – with a look that was universal for all tenders of bar: welcoming yet suspicious of strangers. I’d grown used to it over the years. He filled our pitchers with more Bury Pale Ale. I liked its sweetness and apparent energising properties. The ‘keep said four or five of these and we’d be ready to take on Glinda herself. He bowed to her picture just after he said this. My trained eye noticed the contempt on his features – if Bunnies could show contempt, that is.

We were offered bread and lettuce leaves. When the Crow asked for meat, the ‘keep asked us to leave immediately. Did we not know the rules regarding meat in Bunnybury? he screeched. It is forbidden by the Blessed One. Glinda? I asked. No, was the reply. The other one, the Great Ozma.

‘All praise Ozma, the Blessed One, the creator of Oz,’ the Crow cried suddenly. ‘May her wisdom see us through these dark times. Forgive us our oversight, barkeep. We have been away too long.’ This outburst had mollified the ‘keep to the extent that the first drink was on the house.

‘We have no love for Glinda,’ I volunteered after my second drink. I knew I was taking a risk but something told me I was on the right track.

The ‘keep winked at me. ‘Your straw gave it away, muttonhead. Glinda has done nothing but neglect us, betraying her promise to Ozma.’ He shook his head and changed topics. ‘What brings you to Bunnybury.’

I pointed at the Crow. ‘He did. Or rather his human form did.’

The Crow pecked me once more, only harder. ‘Shut the fuck up!’ he whispered. ‘Until we know where the land lies, we’re better off keeping our mouths sealed.’

I shrugged. ‘How many scarecrows do you know, Diggs? Like the man said, I’m not exactly incognito. I think it’s better if we give them all we’ve got.’

‘Not when there’s a throne at stake, we won’t,’ the Crow fumed. ‘You think I want you to throw it all away because you trust a Bunny barkeep? No more beer for you, sunshine.’

‘Listen to the bird,’ the ‘keep interrupted. ‘In times such as these, there are very few out there who can be trusted wholesale.’ He coughed. ‘Except for Ernie.’

‘Who’s Ernie?’ I asked.

‘Why me of course?’ He bowed as only a Bunny can, giving his white and brown fluffy tail a shake for good measure. If I didn’t know any better I’d have said he was coming on to me. ‘If you can’t trust your friendly neighbourhood barkeep, who can you trust?’

‘I agree!’ The Bunny beer elated me and I felt all-powerful once more. ‘We need an army of Bunnies to storm Emerald City and rescue Oz from Glinda’s clutches.’

‘Hold on there, General Patton,’ the Crow said. ‘First things first. You’ve had no sleep in how long – three days? The booze has gone to your head. You need to lie down.’

‘Coffee,’ I demanded. ‘Give me coffee or give me death!’

The Crow shook its head. ‘Definitely no more booze for you. Barkeep, have you a room for us upstairs?’

‘They’re a little small,’ Ernie replied. ‘Okay for birds, but the scarecrow might find them a touch uncomfortable. He’s not all ears; he’s all legs.’

‘I’ll fold him up.’

Diggs was right. Whatever the Bunnies used to make their beer, they certainly didn’t skimp on quantity. My head was the lightest it had ever been. It was no small wonder I stuck to wine back in the day. I needed to sleep this off.

‘I’ll show you upstairs in a moment. I’m expecting news from the City any moment.’

‘News?’ the crow said, turning his beak to one side. Curiosity got the better of him.

‘Yes,’ Ernie the Bunny barkeep said. ‘And that’s why you two are the only customers I have.’

I turned around and refocused my gaze. When we first entered the bar there were three tables occupied, each with about three to four Bunnies around them. I didn’t hear them leave. Okay, I thought, this is a bit weird.

‘Tell us this big news before I pass out.’ My head was spinning. It felt like I was caught up in another storm.

‘It’s Vaughn,’ Ernie replied.

‘Who’s Vaughn?’ Crow asked.

‘He’s the Bunny in Black.’

‘The Guardian of the Book?’ Crow flapped his wings excitedly.

‘Book? What book? He returns from Emerald City soon with a contingent of our elite warriors.’

Crow cawed to the heavens. ‘Bunny warriors? This is have to see,’ he said when he finished. Then he pecked me one more time – and it was the last thing I remembered.

D: L&L (part 88 - Tin Man) -- Be Still, My Bleeding Heart

2011-09-05T08:56:00.000-07:00

Because I cannot chop I’ve stopped. Blackness wrapped he is, a rusting has-been, bottled tin waiting to kill a captain, bubbling mind already tapped in, cannot stop what’s happening.

I sat up.

His face was a deep orange, burnt from sun or weathered from pain, his cheeks and lips criss-crossed etched with purple ink that bled as he smiled, watching as I woke. He tapped a fat cigar, eyes never straying from my face, silvery pink embers dulling to ash before they hit the stone floor.

“Hello,” he said.

I looked around. The walls were stone; the floor, stone. One dull wooden door in a corner, almost hidden in shadow.

Then… a low fire from inside my chest. If it was possible to be more still than silence and stone, I went still. Inside myself I felt… something. Not my beat beat beat, but… an ache. An empty place making room for a wail, a sob, a scream.

I felt emotion.

“Who are you?” I whispered.

He stared at me. “What’s happening inside you right now?”

“Explain.”

“Inside you. Right now. Are you… do you feel differently than before? Is there something...” he shrugged, took a long, slow drag on his cigar, “alive in you now?” He removed the tri-fold hat from his head, fit it on his knee. “Do you feel any differently than you have recently?”

There weren’t words that I knew that could describe how I felt at that moment, for I’d never felt them. And I was determined that I wouldn’t feel them, because they were matching up with memories of what I had endured in the past… how long? How long had it been since the day I sliced my own body to ribbons, when my blood sprayed into my own mouth and I finally lopped off my own head? Enchantment, witchery, spells and spite: these things had taken my life from me, and I had been able to push it all away, all so deep down inside and beyond… until now.

I met his eye. “Not at all, sir.”

He nodded, slowly. “That is good. I’m glad to see what is… well, there have been a few instances with our Turnbuckles of late that are rather disturbing and disappointing to Her Highness. It seems members of her army are… feeling. Becoming cognizant. Which, obviously,” he spread his hands and grinned, gesturing to the empty, echoing room in which we sat in a weak pool of lamplight, “we simply cannot tolerate.”

I nodded, noting a tiny barred window high along one wall, and the white bright moon beyond it. “I’m not sure what the change in the Turnbuckles has to do with me. And, if I may ask, who exactly are you, and why am I here?”

The man laughed, the purple etches on his face wrinkling and stretching. His hat fell off his knee. “Yes, yes, I do apologize. Around here, sir, we do tend to get to the point, as it were. Her Highness, she doesn’t tolerate much small talk or pleasantries among the help.”

Something thudded in my chest, and I met his eye. “The help.”

His laughter trailed off as he wiped his eyes, snatched up his cap from the floor. He dusted it off with the same hand that held his cigar, only to sprinkle it more with light pink ash. “Yes, the help. Please, allow me to belatedly introduce myself: I am Master Alden, Captain of the Secret Police, Palace Squad. I’m what you could call,” he winked, “Miss Glinda’s right hand man.”

“Miss Glinda,” I repeated. “You must be pretty close to call her that.”

“Never to her face, sir. Never to her face.”

I glanced around. “But isn’t her face everywhere?”

He laughed again – I was beginning to think he was a bit in his cups. “A fine point, sir, a fine point. And a valid one. Which brings us to our current situation.” He relit his cigar, puffed thoughtfully while I tried to ignore the… what was it… disturbance of emotion rising in my chest. “You tried to escape from her chambers earlier. That was a very dire mistake.”

“She kept hitting me in the face and putting cigarettes out on me,” I pointed out. “It was a rather disagreeable meeting.”

“I can understand that. But I’ll let you in on a little secret: she knows about you.”

Fear. It is called fear, and it slammed into my chest right then even harder than Glinda’s fist into my face or her spells at my back, bright flashing sparks of rage crashing off my shiny tin.

“Now, what she knows she has not divulged to me, but she does know. And then there’s the fact that our Turnbuckles – her army, her legion, her defense – seem to think you are a returned savior, their hero, the one they’ve been waiting for without knowing they’ve been waiting, who will free them from their bondage. Free them from her.”

I stared at him and felt my mouth open, slack. I promptly closed it and shook my head. “How do you know all this?”

He shrugged. “It’s my job, sir.” He tapped ash to the floor and studied me before continuing. “There is also a rising resistance movement we have identified which thinks they can move in and stage a coup.”

I glanced around, automatically.

“A secret resistance movement,” Alden said, his tone struggling to stay serious.

I sighed, “It’s been a long few days.”

“I understand. Given your… past… and Her Majesty’s current, rather negative view toward you, I’m willing to make you a deal.”

Shame. This one is called shame.

“I don’t make deals.” I managed.

“You don’t have a choice,” he answered.

Alden reached into a beaten leather case I only then noticed sagging at his ankles. From inside he pulled out a sheaf of paper, tattered and tea-stained, ragged and well studied. “These are individuals we have identified who are part of this resistance – if you can even call it that at this point. They are rather unorganized, to our knowledge, and partly made up of Animals, which Her Highness is keen to rid the EC of anyway.” He shuffled through the pages, his dark eyes scanning each one for a second or so before moving on. “Others are known conspirators, refugees, ex-pats, and experienced criminals.” He stopped at one page and held it up, cocking his head to one side. “A few, in particular, you may even personally recognize.”

He held the paper out toward me, and I eyed it warily.

Fear. This one is called fear. You’ve known it for years.

I took the paper, noticing that it shook in my hand, casting jumping shadows along the far wall.

Recognition and care. Affinity. Perhaps, even long ago, love.

“What am I to do?” I asked, keeping the paper low along my thigh.

“You are to kill them,” he answered.

The laugh that tittered from me was nothing I’d ever heard before. “But I couldn’t possibly….”

All pretense of Alden’s joviality and camaraderie had fallen away as he removed those papers from their case. His eyes were cold and glittering now upon me, watching each slant of light on my shining tin, every slight movement outside in. “You can. You have. And you will.” He suddenly jabbed a finger at the paper in my hand, tapping it up until it was in my lap. “And you will start here.”

“It’s not possible,” I whispered.

“They are not rumors,” Alden answered. “She is here. We don’t know what she wants, or what she’s trying to do, but she has been seen, we have reports, we know she’s here and she must die. And you will do it.”

I lifted the paper to my face, as much to block his damning eyes as to see the face of my mark.

We’re off to see the Wizard, the Wonderful Wizard of Oz!

D: L&L (part 87 - Dot) -- Between a C*ck and a Hard Place

2011-09-01T19:07:00.000-07:00

The old guy's name was Cap. The others, well, they were a collection of nobodies -- no disrespect intended to them. I'm sure they are nice people, if "people" is even the right word to use when there are Animals involved. It's just that they seemed a little uninterested in meeting me, and there were no names and no introductions, and they seemed pretty passive and pensive. It wasn't the kind of group I'd expect to see trying to drive a revolution.

I'd see revolutionaries. As they say, "One man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter." I'd seen them both. I'd met the Taliban up close and personal. They wanted their land, wanted to rule it their way. They fought with grit and vigor, and they made martyrs of themselves left and right, even if I never believed there would seventy-two virgins waiting for them in Paradise, or whatnot. Their eyes hard in a way that I understood; it was the same hardness in our eyes -- not a look that said, "Kill them!" but a look that be kept us focused for one reason: to go home. If their look was harder than ours, we didn't get to go home. Well, we did, but it always involved a lot of flowers, some Kleenex, and a few sad hymns.

These were not Taliban. These weren't even the red forces we practiced against at Lejeune. These were old men, like Cap was an old man, all whiskers and philosophy and pent-up anger. These were businessmen who'd sooner see the city burn to the ground than their shops loose a dollar, or whatever passed for money around here. They talked about the old monarchy of Ozma the Great and waxed eloquent over the "good old days" when the Scarecrow had huddled in his palace and let the market forces run the city. These men were merchants, a class somewhere between middle and upper -- I didn't know the social structure here, and but I realized right away that what they wanted was nothing more than an environment in Oz that allowed them to operate as they had, trading near and far with little official interference and lots of official protection. Tyrants could, after all, be good for business.

Cap was just a hired gun. He'd not said as much, but based on some of the ravings -- or should I say truth -- my great grandmother told me in my early years, he was likely one of the guards of the Wizard's palace. He was old, maybe in his seventies, but he was robust. He had been an ass-kicker his whole life, and he was still kicking ass -- that's what he told me, and then he'd had to sit down because he was out of breath.

I swallowed as I listened to him talk, focusing not only on his story, but also on my own body language. I'd learned that in Afghanistan, as well. The Afghans were not Americans, and they had their own customs and mannerisms and such, and we couldn't just go and do our normal things like give them the "a-ok" sign of a thumbs-up or a circle formed with the index finger and thumb with the other fingers sticking up. That was something that wasn't okay, or so they told us. Showing them the bottom of the foot was rude, too, we'd been told, although I don't know when that would come up, as was using the left hand -- it was reserved for -- well, let's just say that they didn't really have toilet paper in mud huts on the central Afghan plateau. So, I was very careful how I listened to Cap. I didn't move around a lot -- not so much so that I wouldn't offend him with some movement but mostly because I didn't want him to get a hint of the utter disappointment and despair I was feeling after having met them.

The Animals in Munchkinland had been so adamant that this was a strong movement, a real force that would strike at Glinda and take her down. What Cap was describing was disturbing at best, terrifying at worst, and outright immoral as far as I was concerned. And the worst of it was that the act he was describing -- were old men always this vile? -- had nothing to do with me, an actual war veteran, but the kid who'd met me in the Iron Furnace, Anis Orange. And Anis -- I'd tried not to laugh when he told me his name -- was as pale as a sheep's belly after the first spring shearing. He was not a happy bivouacer, as I liked to say.

"Fuck her and then kill her?" Anis blanched even more when he repeated Cap's words, but it wasn't apparent if it was out of embarrassment or fear. He glanced sideways at me and swallowed.

"Exactly, my boy," said Cap as casually as if he'd stated he needed some tea or a hot poker in his eye. (I had to restrain myself from coming unglued when I heard him say, "Fuck her and then kill her" the first time.) "Our sources in the Lion's office have confirmed that your band, the Muttondrops or Meatchops --"

"Deep Fried Mutton Chops," Anis shot back, a little pride in his voice. "I'm the drummer."

"Yes, yes, my boy," said Cap, his fingers twirling his rather extensive mustache. "You chaps, er Chops, are invited back to the palace to play two days from now on the final day of the Week of Glory, or whatever she has called it this year. We all know that. And our source in the Lion's office has hinted at the Empress' interest in your -" he hesitated and glanced at me, then mumbled something that sounded like "lrg drmstk."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. He was tall, filled out pretty good for a drummer -- not at all anorexic and drugged-out like so many of the drummers of bands I liked in a previous life -- so maybe his drumstick had a certain reputation. I refused to look. I could already see out of the corner of my eye that he had stiffened with that last bit of information and his chin had dropped to his chest. Cap, it seems, had tried to be discrete by mumbling, but maybe he thought I was not too bright and couldn't keep up.

The only thing coming out of Anis' mouth was air and a kind of gurgling sound, as if he was choking on his own astonishment. I glanced at him; it was apparent that they'd not been over this part of the plan before. Cap sat back casually, a smug look on his face, while Anis turned even whiter, so much so that I was sure he would faint flat out on the floor. But he stuck it out, only reaching out with his hand to the wall to steady himself. I was kinda proud of him at that moment, and I realized that maybe they'd picked the right guy for the job.

"That's the long and short of it, son," said Cap. "She's impossible to get close to, as you know, but we know she's a sexy wildcat. There's even rumors that she and the Lion -- well, you know. Anyway, we can find no other way to get close to her. The little tik toks are like fire ants swarming."

"Oh, we have those in Kansas," I blurted out.

"Do they actually catch things on fire?"

"Um, no," I replied wide-eyed. "Maybe ours aren't quite the same."

"These'uns swarm all over whatever is threatening them and sometimes when there are so many, they burst into flame. We're not sure what causes it, but no one sticks around to find out, if you know what I mean." I nodded as he continued. "These tik toks, they swarm, too, and even though they are small and not that hard to beat down, there are so many of them, and they just keep coming, and eventually you just get worn down. They don't get tired, you know? Not like the Witch's guard at Kiamo Ko -- human. Or the Scarecrow's Imperial Guard -- humans." He seemed to wince when he said this. "Ginda went a different way and created these things to serve her. They don't think. They don't talk back. They don't rebel. They just kill you and cart your corpse off. I've seen it happen, watched my brother die in an earlier attempt."

"What happened?" Anis and I said at the same time, then we shared an embarrassed glance.

"We tried a two-prong diversionary tactic during one of her little parades down Emerald Avenue some long years ago, sending three men out of the crowd on the left side of street to distract the guards, while Zippo slipped up from the right. It worked pretty much -- the tik toks moved en masse to intercept the immediate threat, leaving Zippo to slide up to the carriage with his knife. He never made it to the carriage. Suddenly he went still, frozen to the spot as the carriage wheeled away, and in a moment the tik toks were back from their first kills and swarmed all over him. He couldn't move, couldn't run; all he could do was scream. Glinda's carriage never stopped, and not once did she stop smiling and waving, wand in hand."

I swallowed, and my hand instinctively touched Toto. Horrible way to die -- unable to defend himself.

"And you want me to go into that? I won't even get close to her."

Cap leaned back and pulled out his pipe. His face was different for a moment, not the mask of determination that it had been. His eyes softened and then came back with a hardness that I hadn't seen since those desert days. "No, my boy," he said, rooting around in his pockets for his tobacco, his knuckles white around the bowl, "you will. I'll see to it myself. I'll get you so close to her that the only wand in her hand is yours, and then I want you to wring that bitch's neck."

D: L&L (part 86 - Narrator) -- Out Like a Light

2011-08-30T20:56:00.000-07:00

Turnbuckle turned and turned, climbing, ever climbing. The tower was the bane of his existence, and he dared not look up for fear of the vertigo striking him again and the tea tray falling. He would have frowned had his metal mouth been capable of it. Instead he huffed aloud, an indignant noise at his shortcomings, the long climb, and the confusion that surrounded the vertigo itself.

How it made sense that he could experience vertigo or any other kind of ailment aside from rust or sticky gears was beyond his comprehension, and yet there had been many instances like this among his compatriots in the last few weeks. His only issue was vertigo, but he had overheard a discussion about motion sickness, something akin to what a human doctor would call depression, and even some outbursts of anger. Whatever was happening to his men -- well, he just couldn't fathom it. They were only metal men, after all, just tin and gears and bits of metal all magically welded together, were they not? They couldn't feel. They couldn't joke. They couldn't laugh or cry or giggle. They were merely tools.

They kept the peace for the Empress, the Queen, the Regent -- whatever she desired to be called from one week to the next -- it was important to know. They managed crowds, performed as an army for the state, served the Glorious One without failure or error, and did anything asked without question, complaint or desire to the contrary. They were Her creatures, not subjects of Oz, not citizens. They had no rights, no desires, no needs -- although of late that seemed to have changed somewhat.

When first they had been formed, they found themselves in neat rows in the Plaza of the Celestial Clock, now know as the Plaza of Glory. Within each of them, they'd felt a sudden jolt, like a spark of awareness, heard the voice of their Mistress in their heads and moved out without hesitation to do her bidding. "Protect Oz," she'd said. "Rally behind your leader, Grommetik." They had marched then, single file lines, like an endless army of ants out of their hill, clinking and clanking, footsteps ringing on the cobblestones of the street of the Emerald City. The moved as one -- no thought, no wonder, no inclinations, robotic as they could be, parting the stunned crowds, brushing off the calls and cries, the insults, the questions, the wonder or anger, until they arrived at the gates of the palace. There they pressed together en masse, no longer as individual units, a tremendous force seemingly welded together like one massive battering ram, and the gates fell.

Before them lay the palace of the Wizard, now the resting place of the Emperor's throne, a creature weaker than the bleeders, a creature made of straw, its brain besotted with drink, passive, pensive and perverted. His soldiers came on with their spears and halberds, but they were no match for this new army, weapons themselves, and soon the palace grounds were drunken with the blood of Men and the arms of the old were in the hands of the new. They forced the main doors just as they'd forced the gates, and a contingent of the little men moved in, clearing the rooms and pressing the compliant into the main hall just as they'd been ordered, Her voice leaking into their metal heads with command after command.

There they saw Grommetik standing next to the Glorious One. He gleamed oily metallic; she gleamed like the rising sun. He turned and spoke, a grating, tinny voice. She turned and command them, her voice flowing like a robin's song, her words elegant yet powerful. "Turn out the straw pretender so that the new Regent make take his place." She smiled, nearly glowing in the shafts of light that played down from the domed ceiling, standing close to Grommetik, her delicate hand resting on his rounded shoulder. Surely she would not put him on the throne. It was the first thought he'd ever had. Grommetick was a short, round, silly creature, an automaton, a simpleton, nothing more than a symbol of the revolution, not its leader. Beside him though was a creature that could not be magicked; she was a glory to behold, heavenly beyond anything imaginable, and obviously the rightful heir.

Within a day, the straw creature had been thrown through the gates of the city, the new army had secured the palace, and the majestic figure from the Throne Room had taken her rightful place on the throne. Grommetik had disappeared, but within a few days the new Regent had declared a memorial would be constructed in his likeness and placed in the plaza outside the palace, forever to be known as Pizza de Revolucion.

Turnbuckle reached the final landing, felt the cool breeze of the open window, his trip down memory lane having distracted him from the laborious climb. He knew the Mistress didn't climb these steps when she went to the high tower, and for the first time, he resented having to do so himself. It wasn't that he was tired -- tik toks didn't get tired. It was simply a matter of -- he stopped to think of a word that would suit the feeling -- of pride. That was it. Pride. She ordered him about as if he meant nothing to her, and that -- yes -- that hurt his pride. He was not appreciated in the least, and that hurt his pride. She shouted at him, cursed him, crushed his brothers and smelted them down to slag. She berated him, used him as an ashtray or a stool, a butler, a maid, a cleaning woman, a servant of every type. He was forever cleaning up her messes, imprisoning her enemies, acting as her spy, killing her lovers. He was nothing but a thing, a worthless toy that she would crush under her heal at the first thought.

And yet, she had given him, and his brothers, life, a spark. She had brought them into the world, and as she always said, she could take them out. It had not been so long ago that they were simply scrap metal pieces in the dustbins of the city, garbage in the alleys, waste in the streets, and then one day a magical spell had brought them into being, not real beings but something -- an army of soldiers, workers, servants, slaves. And at some point they'd gone from being simply automatons, each with the same name, same build, same strengths and weaknesses, to being creatures that could hear each others thoughts, real thoughts and desires, gripes and fears. At some point, they had begun to exist, not as "useless pieces of magical junk", as she'd so eloquently put it more than once, but as individual creatures.

Turnbuckle looked up, tamped down the vertigo, and felt anger for the first time. She cared nothing for him. She simply wanted tea brought up to her in the middle of the night, to the highest tower in the palace, and as her slave, it was his duty to bring it up. He looked down at the tea tray, the beautiful jade tea pot, the silver tea cup ready for steaming water and milk, a silver spoon inlaid with jade -- a beautiful set she'd used every day since she had become the new Regent of Oz. He would have frowned again if he could have. Instead he could only look and begin to steam himself, feeling the anger boil like the water had only minutes before. If only he had the courage to throw the tea set down, to watch it shatter on the stone steps, see each piece drop away into the gloom below...his hand began to shake, but he willed himself to maintain as the fury grew inside, and for the first time he could feel a word coming to his mouth that he uttered only on the rarest occasions: "no".

A moment later he felt the tea tray suddenly lift out of his grasp, and all thoughts ceased as he watched it drift up and around the remaining few winding steps. There on the stairs, watching him, stood the Mistress, the Regent of Oz, the Glorious One who had given him life. She was wearing a pink robe, open all along the front, nothing underneath. Her soft skin glowed with a sort of inner warmth from her long blonde tresses to her painted toes. She stared at him, her mouth hard, her eyes fiery. She could hear him thinking, feel his anger. He could feel it, feel the fingers of her mind and magic in his head, and he knew he was doomed if he didn't act immediately.

She is a bleeder, nothing more, and all bleeders are the same.

"No," she said, "not the same," and with a flick of her wrist, she snapped him flat, crushed him in an instant, and the little spark was gone.

D: L&L (part 85 - Narrator) -- What the Shiz? (part one)

2011-08-28T08:59:00.000-07:00

"So, um, h-hi."

The leader of the New Oz Animal Rights Expediency, aka "The Shiz", nervously sat down next to Cloe and almost spilled his juice when his tray clattered on the table in the Student Cafeteria. It was a moment that he'd hardly expected, a random coming together of timing, location and a sudden surge of foolishness, or courage, depending on the outcome. Or it could be that he was so tired he wasn't thinking straight.

He'd been getting less and less sleep over the last few days, what with classes, all the silly festivities for the Queen of Narcissism and his long nights meeting with the Animals to plan and recruit. He blinked sleepily at Cloe, tried to guess which of the three of her was the real one, and smiled. If he could just stay awake a little longer, say something intelligent, and not fall into whatever green pea mush the lunchcounter had handed him, he'd be okay.

All three of her smiled. "Hi. You're the guy they call Fly-by, right?"

Jones' heart skipped a beat, and for a moment his vision cleared and he could see the glowing face and golden hair perfectly. He took a deep breath and inhaled the jasmine -- it always reminded him of the fields near his home and running through them. Now it just reminded him that he had somehow gotten up the courage to say something. Don't blow it!

"Y-yeah, that's me. Ordinal. I'm Ordinal Jones. I'm the head of, um," he stumbled, but caught himself, "I'm headed back to my dorm in a few minutes to catch forty winkies, but when I saw you, I thought I should say 'Hi'. We are in Dr. Hawking's class together -- History of Oz 102, or as I like to call it Fables to Scare Children 102." He chortled to himself at his little joke, hoping she would laugh along, and continued. "I sit behind you a little on the right."

He took a deep breath -- a little louder than he'd hoped for, but he began to relax. She didn't really laugh at his joke, but she hadn't laughed in his face or told him to sod off; he hadn't fallen into his mush or spilled his juice; maybe there was a chance here and then he could go back to his rack with a smile on his face and a few hours to dream of Cloe.

"Oh, I love that class!" she said and she virtually sparkled when her face lit up so, a mixture of the glow that seemed to emanate from her -- her smile and her eyes -- and the sun filtering in through the wall of windows across the room. "It's so exciting to hear all those old stories. And Dr. Hawking has such a terrific way of telling them." Her eyes got that faraway look as she turned away and stared off into space. "The wild days of the despotic Wizard and his evil schemes to dominate Oz. The sudden appearance of a young girl, like a bolt from the blue, a people's movement spreading across the land as she drove on the EC with her tiny army of Animals and magical creatures and not only defeated the destabilizing force of the socialist Wicked Witch of the West, but she threw down the totalitarian regime of the Wizard. And then," she said with a flourish, "like an angel, she just disappeared. Such amazing magic and glory!"

Jones stared at her, his hand shaky as he sipped his juice and watched her in motion, so enthralled by the absolute horseshit that Dr. Hawking had filled her head with. Everyone knew the story, of course, but everyone also knew it was utter bullshit. The Witch had been nothing more than a threat parents told their children to keep them in line, a monster under the bed -- if you don't eat all of your beets, the Wicked Witch will get you -- that kind of horseshit. The Wizard had just been an insane old man who had locked himself away in his palace and eventually lost his marbles to the point that he appointed a magical Scarecrow to take over for him. Some said he'd transferred his mind into the body of the Scarecrow because his body had failed. Who knew? With magic, anything was possible. Then it wasn't until Glinda had come along and taken on the mantle of benevolent ruler that things had stabilized. Although like most saviors and benevolent rulers, even she was no good, taking the Wizard's place as if he'd done nothing more than transform himself into a woman. What the people of Oz had needed was exactly what Dr. Na-Na had said. They needed self-determination, some means of deciding their own fate, not rule by throps with magical slippers and witches casting down spells from their castles or crazy old geezers cackling behind curtains. The peoples of Oz didn't need some glittery self-appointed princess with an army of soulless tik tok creatures to force the people to follow her every whim. They needed to decide their own fate through a voting system -- one person (or Animal), one vote.

Oz, it seemed, was doomed to childish fairytales, despotic rulers and bad history professors. Or, he thought to himself as she droned on, totally cute, clueless girls, although that wasn’t necessarily “doom”.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot,” she continued, getting more and more animated with each statement. “Dr. Hawking is giving a special lecture on the social-economic impact of revolutionary movements and rebellions today in Alabaster Hall. He’s going to discuss the impact of the departure of the Wizard and the installation of the Scarecrow on the economy and well-being of Ozlanders at two this afternoon. Something about how having an authoritarian ruler is good for a free-market economy, and how that changed when the Scarecrow took the throne and opened up Oz to chaos and turbulence by rescinding some of the Wizard’s laws and practices.” She just kept going. “After that, we’re having tea in his office and we’re going to listen to the radio. It’s Independence Day, and Glinda the Glorious is going to give a speech and address all of Oz.” She actually clapped and bounced in her seat, which brought Jones’ attention somewhat back to the quasi-conversation and mostly back to her bouncing bazooms. “It’s going to be such fun! I love Dr. Hawkings teas, and we have such interesting discussions about economic policy and political machinations! Oh, my, did you know there are rumors –,” and suddenly she calmed down and her voice grew hushed, “– about a secret underground subversive movement called The Shiz?” She did the air quotes thing and leaned in close to Jones as she spoke.

Jones shuddered, unsure what to make of her comment but absolutely sure that he could both smell heaven in jasmine and see it right down her shirt. By the Unnamed God, he would have kissed her right then if he hadn’t been suddenly terrified. “Oh?” was all he could manage.

“Yes,” she whispered and leaned in even closer until her warm breath tickled his ear and he had to put his napkin in his lap. “I hear that’s what got Dr. Na-Na killed, and Dr. Hawking says that the Anti-Subversive Service is about to take down the entire Shiz rebel movement.”

Suddenly Jones lost his appetite, his need for sleep, and his boner. All he could think to do was run.

D: L&L (part 84 - Lion) -- Lock, Stalk and Bear

2011-08-25T12:16:00.000-07:00

“Sir, you must calm yourself. You’re making this endeavor terribly difficult for us,” chimed the tinny voice of the lead tik-tok. He was called Turnbuckle; sometimes I thought they were all called Turnbuckle; who could tell the difference between them?

I could feel the cobbled stones of the ground rubbing against my back as the little tik-toks tried carrying me on the metal pole. I growled and snarled, kicked and bucked against my bonds. I bent my head back - stretching my neck to reach the nearest metal man- gnashing my canines in a crazed fit. Not that I could have done any damage with the confining muzzle that was strapped around the back of my head, but I’d be damned if I was going to make the ‘endeavor’ easy.

They clumsily marched through the streets of the EC –metal tik-tok feet with their hollow clang and the occasional grind of metal on stone when they shuffled, half dragging, half carrying me, complaining about my ungentlemanly behavior. As if I ever behaved as a gentleman – please, my brutha!

“This beast is more animal than Animal,” I heard one of them say. This provoked a chuckle from me and another kick.

“This is precisely why our beloved Glinda does not want these creatures in our city. Imagine if they all snapped like this one has done? We’d all be fodder for sure,” another answered.

“That is enough chit chat,” Turnbuckle announced. “We are the Royal Guard. This behavior will not be tolerated, even if – he - is back.” The chatters hushed their chattering, and I paused in my rebellion to ponder who the ‘he’ it had mentioned was? I could not open my jaw to ask, only growl. With the added frustration of not being to talk, I worked more diligently at being a more difficult prisoner.

I had never been incarcerated, had never known anyone who has been, so I was surprised when I was dragged to the back of the Palace and felt the first bout of fear twisting in my guts on hearing a key turned in a lock and the creak of a large door opening. I tried to turn my head to see where I was being carried off to. My curiosity was soon fed as the tik-toks trailed me down a flight of sharp, stone steps. Turnbuckle closed the thick, wooden door we entered through and re-locked it.

“We can allow you to walk the rest of the way, Sir. You must remain in control. The shackles will remain on your paws, and the muzzle of course, until we get you into the cage. Our orders are the kill you with impunity should you get out of hand. Are you willing to cooperate?” Turnbuckle addressed me as I hung by my paws on the metal rod. I tensed at the thought of being put in a cage, and even more that Glinda had given them authority to kill me. I agreed, nodding my head. I was placed on my back, the chains at my feet were undone and I was allowed to stand. I felt the pain of the ordeal through my entire body.

“This way, please, Sir,” Turnbuckle stated, his hand reaching out politely, pointing the way down a narrow, stairway. The dark, stone walls followed the path of the spiraling steps as we made our way down, down, down. I was hardly able to fit between the walls, this place was obviously not built for large creatures. As we descended, my breathing grew rapid and panic began to set in. “Sir,” Turnbuckle said, garnering my attention, “Sir, just breathe; we are almost there.”

I wanted to shout, to scream that I couldn’t take it, that I needed to get out of there, but I couldn’t move. The lower we went, the tighter the space, the walls closing in on me, or so it seemed. I knew it couldn’t be though because the little tik-toks were marching two-by-two and they hadn’t changed formation. Oh shit, oh shit, Lionis, look what you got us into. We’re going to be cruched, cruched like buggiwhompers, this is all your fault…

“Shut up,” I whispered through gritted teeth.

“I beg your pardon, Sir, but no one has said a word,” Turnbuckle responded, his head whirring around while his body still descended the stairs. He drew his hand near his belt, reaching for his club, I imagined. I had seen these little metal men kill before and I knew there would be no hesitation if it came to it. Fuck, keep cool. I shrugged my shoulders and gave a bit of a laugh. Turnbuckle’s head spun back on his shoulders. Man, what a freak, I thought and snorted.

The closeness of the stairwell bothered me the whole way down, the voice talking in my head, accusing me, nagging the living fuck out of me. But I maintained; I maintained because I had to. I felt it was that or die… which would you choose?

At the bottom of the stairwell, we entered a room – a large room with a high vaulted ceiling, thank the unnamed God. It was dimly lit with torches on the walls. At the opposite side of the chamber, there was another door, and we progressed across the stone floor and halted so Turnbuckle could unlock it. When the door was flung opened, I wanted to run and never stop until I was in the land beyond, in the bright sunshine. All I could see was cage bars along both sides of the hallway. How could I have lived here nearly all my life and never known about this place? There were sounds coming from the containment area, howling and cries. My gut wretched again. I tried to speak, to ask what the fuck this place was, but the muzzle stopped me. I stepped back, my eyes large, and Turnbuckle was on me immediately – damn he moved fast for being made of metal. His club found purchase on the side of my head and I went down. I knew this was it. My time had come. What a way to end a bad day! I closed my eyes and let the darkness take me.

When I came through I found myself on the wrong side of the bars. I was a caged Animal. The shackles were removed from my paws and the muzzle was gone, but I was still no free. I was on my stomach, staring at the bars holding me captive and my ass… something wasn’t right. I heard laughter from behind me, and carefully I picked myself up to face whoever was there. Damn, my ass hurt. What the fuck?

“Meow, kitty, kitty,” a gruff voice spoke. “You’re going to be a nice pussy for Sugga Bear.” I turned and looked up into the eyes of a large white Bear. He grinned, and rubbed his cock. Laughter – that’s when I noticed several other creatures in the block. I cocked my head to the side. “Ronchester,” the word escaped my mouth.

The white Bear had been a legend, or so I thought. Ronchester was said to have been crazed, rampaging through Oz destroying everything in his path. I’d heard only stories of the magnificent beast that had apparently just raped me while I was out cold. His kind had been wiped out, and no trace was ever found of them. So here he was – a mystery solved. I wondered if Turnbuckle had captured him. The thought made me feel a bit more apprehensive of the little metal man.

“That’s right, Lion. I’m glad we need no introductions. They call me Sugga Bear here, cause I got the sweet treats.” He pulled on his massive girth, causing it to go erect. “Now it’s time for dessert, Cat. Sugga Bear’s got some sweet cream just for kitty.” I cocked my head to the side and smiled.

I said nothing as I leapt toward the great Bear, my claws extended, teeth bared. He was taken aback, surprised when he found himself on his back, me grinning in his face. “See, the trouble here, Sugga Bear, is that I’m the big Cat around here and you’re a fucking rug.” He flung his paws out, his strength evident as he threw me across the room, found his bearings and charged after me. I barely deflected his massive claws – bigger than mine even, yikes! – from tearing out my throat. I had to end this quickly. This was no Munchkinshit here; this was my life. I rebounded off the far wall of the cell and dove right at the charging Bear. We met head long, claws tearing into flesh, teeth biting through fur and bone. It was a bloody battle, and I thought I was going to lose a time or two, but I prevailed in the end, my claw piercing his throat. I felt a sense of loss at having to take the life of such a creature, but I’d have felt an even greater loss had I been on the losing end.

When it was over, I stood alongside my kill staring down everyone else imprisoned with me. “As stated before, boys,” I proclaimed, tapping a bloodied paw on my chest, “I am the big Cat around here.” The congregation of strange Animals and creatures stared at me reverently. There was no argument from any of them, but from the back corner of the cell, a place where the light didn’t quite reach, I heard a familiar giggle. I stared hard into that corner, barely able to discern the figure of the little black fucker. “How the fu…” I started to say, but in that instant he was gone, a trailing waft of black smoke the only thing evident that he had even been there.

D: L&L (part 84 - Tin Man) -- Fallen to Rust

2011-08-22T18:06:00.000-07:00

Because I cannot stop I chop. I chop the days I slice the night I fall I slide I tumble from heights past the moon beyond the light, I do not like I love I might just take my fist ignore your fright I might I might I might I might.

“Snap out of it.”

Maybe, just maybe if I don’t open my eyes…

“I’m not going away. Stop muttering to yourself and open your eyes.” She sounded irritated and impatient. I distinctly smelled booze nearby. Very nearby. Clinking of glass and ice and tinny Munchkin laughter.

Because I cannot stop I chop I slice the night I -

“Shut up, you worthless bucket of bolts. Open your fucking eyes before I have Ruby Red Shoes here claw them out of your rusty head.”

That got me. I opened my eyes, glanced around.

Glinda bared her teeth at me. “She’s back.”

I sat up. “Who’s back?”

“That little girl from Kansas.” Glinda stood and slammed a crystal goblet on the marble floor, barely missing the extended arm of a young Munchkin who was on the receiving end of a rather boisterous bout of oral sex. The Munchkin flinched but didn’t roll away, apparently accustomed to her mistress’s rabid outbursts.

I blinked at her, unable to gather my thoughts into anything close to coherent. “She is?”

“By the Unknown God, I hope not,” Glinda spat. “That bitch from Kansas. The one who fell from the sky and ruined everything. Back again?”

I pressed my fingertips into my eyes. “I’d heard….”

I heard the layers of wispy fabric and tiny, hidden bells sewn in the folds of Glinda’s skirt as she whirled and crossed the open, pink-swaddled room. “You have? What have you heard? Tell me!”

“I… I can’t really remember,” I said, shaking my head. “I was… somewhere. Somewhere over the Great Kells…Shaky’s? Sharky’s?”

Glinda stared at me. “Well?”

“Snickety’s. That’s it, Snickety’s. I was there with… and there was this… something happened. Someone said something about her being back, and something about a fog. Some sort of fog that was eating Munchkins or knocking them out, or…”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

I shook my head again. “I honestly don’t know. There have been some… instances lately.”

This made Glinda smile, a real smile, possibly the first in a very long time. But for Glinda, a real smile stemmed from my discomfort and shame – and possible incarceration, blackmail or death. “Instances?”

The Munchkin on the floor was writhing, tiny flower hands spread wide, tucking in and out of the mass of brown curls of the human girl between her plump Munchkin thighs. Tiny bright slit eyes, soft panting sighs light falling through fitted slides over the pink windows, jewel-bright cries of the mini Munchkin as she as lapped, licked, loved and liked.

I looked at Glinda.

“Would these…instances…be anything like what happened after your little run-in with Nimmie Amee?” She dropped to a pink padded chair like a snake falling from a tree; her legs crossed with a whisper, her hand flicked out and snapped. A thin, slender stick appeared in her right hand with a long, pink cigarette at the end. She made a small sound with her mouth, and the tip lit. She placed the opposite end between her teeth.

Click.

“Run in.” I repeated.

beat. beat. beat. beat beat beat beat beat beat

Her eyes fell to my metal hole of a chest; an empty cavity now thumping, thrumming with muted noise. She leaned forward, sucked in a long, slow stream of smoke.

“After your triumphant ascent to the throne as Emperor of the Winkies, with that dipshit Scarecrow at your side, you decided it was your duty to return to Nimmie and make her your wife – even though you didn’t think you loved her. Because how could a monster – “she paused, chuckling as she exhaled a thick plume of purple smoke – “sorry, machine, how could a machine love? You were made of metal and tin, nothing within to make you love her except your sense of duty.”

I swallowed. Suddenly, horribly, my jaw was rusting closed: I could feel the spread of flaky decay spreading through my tin skin, my metal mouth. I tried to shake my head, cringed at the loud squeaking that echoed through the room.

The Munchkin on the floor cried out.

“You went back to her,” Glinda continued, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees; it was a distinctly un-Glinda gesture and made her resemble a young girl. Her eyes glittered. “You went back to her cottage on the hill, and what happened, Nick?”

My head moved millimeters, rust flaked onto my chest as it spread across my lips.

She’s doing this; she’s rusting me.

“You…” I managed before my lips sealed shut.

“What,” she hissed, “did you find, Nick?”

The Munchkin squirmed, yelping, and flipped over, flipped her skirt, offered herself again. I could only turn my eyes away – my head refused to budge.

“Did you find your lovely Nimmie Amee – your flower Munchkin love – in the throes with another man? Was she moaning, writhing, loving, cumming? What was she doing, Nick?”

My voice rumbled up, pressed against my mouth sealed tight, battled with all the might I could muster. The Munchkin woman groaned, bucking. Suddenly, as I watched, she turned her face to me.

The room blinked black.

Nick! Nick Nick Nick Nick Nick Nick Nick Nick

Because I cannot stop I chop can’t stop holy fuck holy god unnamed god it’s her it’s her it’s her it’s her

I jerked back and looked down. My chest had a fist-sized dent in it.

Glinda’s face was in mine. Up close, her breath against eyes, I saw the fragile skin around her mouth slipping, the tell-tale stitching along her jawline.

“What. Was. She. Doing.”

I couldn’t have answered if I wanted to.

“I’ll tell you what she was doing, you bright metal freak – she was fucking another monster, one she stitched together herself.” Glinda pushed back away from me, twitched across the room followed by a haze of purple smoke. “You were gone, your blood washed away. She was traumatized, heartbroken, bereft and despairing, even. You were in pieces.” She stood where the Munchkin woman and her lover had been moments ago. My eyes cast about, but they were gone. “She was desperate.”

My eyes flicked to the window, where the light fractured into a prism of pink hues. It could have been morning or midnight – this enchanted room, I realized, knew no time.

“She was willing to do anything, wasn’t she, Nick?” Glinda considered, nodded, snapped her fingers. Another cigarette appeared lit in the long holder. “Even sew together dying flesh, drying blood, aching bone. And who, exactly, do you think taught her how to do that?”

She smiled.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened when you found her – found them – together. I already know.” She cocked her head in what could be considered, in anyone else, a sympathetic manner. “I was there, actually, in the woods. I followed you from the cottage. I ruined one of my favorite pairs of slippers.” She shuddered, almost convincingly. “So much blood.”

I closed my eyes.

“But what I’m not sure about is what happened after you got back to your tin palace in Winkie Country.” She stood and began to pace in front of me, tapping one long pink-tipped finger against her chin. “There was silence from there for quite long time.”

I find it kind funny, I find it kind of sad that the dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had….

“I tried for a long time to check on you. The Scarecrow left, disappeared – into the drink, apparently.”

I find it hard to tell you cause I find it hard to take….

“No one was talking, for years. Your kingdom fell into rust and decay. Nothing but silence and bloodrust covering everything.”

I jolted back to the slam of her palm against the side of my face.

Her eyes were on the casing of rust along my mouth, creeping so close to my eyes that the room seemed rimmed in blood, cast red.

“That is, until someone escaped.”

beat beat beat beat…. stop

She cocked her head again, a grin twitching at the corners of her pink mouth, her eyebrows raised.

“So, Nick.” She sat back and crushed her cigarette out on my knee. Red rust was eating at the bottom corner of my right eye, and she flicked at it with one fingernail. “Tell me. How many?” Giggles burst forth suddenly, as if she’d just recalled something funny and private and important. “Oh, that’s right – you can’t talk, can you?”

I had the feeling that my eyes were saying enough just then.

She sucked in another long lungful of purple smoke and released it forcefully into my stony face.

“For some reason, my tik toks have taken to you. Something about some legend or another. And seeing as how I’m the reigning authority of this land, and I have a certain knowledge of certain hundreds of souls who’s blood has caked and dried beneath your metal fingernails, we could say, I suggest you and I –“ she paused long enough to punch me in the face with a force and passion that, frankly, surprised me - “have a little discussion and agreement.”

It came out of nowhere. Without realizing it I had stood and, in a pink fluttering gauzy glittery blur, Glinda was skittering across the marble floor on her ass, slamming against the wall beside her ornate white vanity, complete with lighted mirror, with a dull thump.

beat. beat. beat. beat. beat beat beat beat beat

I could hear my own joints creaking, moaning as I stood, shaking violently. Rust showered off and around me, tufting to the floor like someone wiping off the remnants of dried blood from their face upon awaking the morning after a near lethal ass beating.

“You’re. Fucking. Dead,” Glinda hissed, trembling to rise from a pool of spotted pink. When she looked up her hair was on end, blood trickled from one ear, and the left side of her face had slipped from the bone: her façade, her glamour, had taken a serious hit.

My body was moving even as my mind began blinking out. I saw the door, my hand reaching out, felt the whoosh of cool air in the hallway before my back and legs seized up, white molten hot, and I stumbled. Flickers of white and pink light showered against the corridor wall opposite me, and I turned, in agony, and slammed the door shut.

Just before my brain blinked to blackness I saw my hand rip the doorknob out of the door, my lips utter an ancient, and powerful, curse.

Where the fuck did that come from?

“Nick!” Glinda shrieked from the other side of the door, although it sounded like the other side of hell. “You rusty sonofabitch! I’m going to slaughter you and sell you for parts!”

I slumped against the opposite wall, my vision darkening, dripping in dark blood. Just as my torso collapsed and my beat beat beat stopped, as I was sliding down to where the darkness could hold me, I saw the wobbly round silver image shuffling toward me, heard the whispered alarm. Metal against stone, slipping scraping hurry.

Fingers clasped my upper arm. I completely let go, dipped into the darkness, just as I caught the last white whisper.

“Now he is ours.”