Story: Can you hear me now?

"I'll have this all cleared up in a quick jiffy." DFL whipped out her cell phone, flicking it open with an expert twist of the wrist.

She looked at it for a moment. A slight frown appeared. "I forgot. I don't have coverage out here in wherever-we-are fantasy land*. Stupid Verizon."


Whoops!! Look like you messed up and picked the wrong one! I hope you marked the place with your fingers so you can flip back and pick something else.

Well, I guess that doesn't really work in a digital medium, but it's how I always used to read Choose Your Own Adventure books.

Very well, I'll just repost your other options.

A: Direct the chicken house to the nearest town
B: Call 911 on her cell
C: Search the forest for help
D: Wait for Deus Ex Machina






*It's true! Feel free to look up early chapters where DFL attempted to cell phone for help.

Story: Now with Choices!

TA managed to leap from the tree just as it exploded. The blast caught her and threw her deeper into the forest, smashing her through branches until she managed to snag one with a singed, outstretched arm. She flipped up to rest on the branch, and took a quick stock of her injuries. Splinters from the exploding tree had ripped jagged holes through her gi but, thanks to her defensive training, lodged mostly in her arms and legs. TA felt like a lightly toasted porcupine. Her left arm had taken the brunt of the damage, and she gingerly tucked it in close and tied it to her chest with a bandage from her first aid pack.

A twig snapped. TA’s head snapped up as she scanned the forest. She was in no shape to fight the witch. She would leave that fight to BSA. TA started running, leaping through the trees as she headed for the rendezvous point.

As TA was making her tactical retreat, the sounds of smashing limbs chased her. TA sped up, doubling back and switching her trail to shake her tail, but her pursuer kept pace. The old woman couldn't move this fast, perhaps she had sent a familiar or a monster. Determined to see her enemy, TA dropped a gas bomb and hid herself in the branches of a tree. She waited. Out of the trees swung a twitching cluster of greenery, using vines and tendrils it swung to a branch and stopped. TA watched in horror as the vines curled around a bloody spot on the trunk, thorns piercing deep into the bark as the leaf monster drank her blood. Behind it, she could see others creeping around her position.
“Blood-sucking leafy octopuses! Are you kidding me?!” she griped as she drew a ninjaken, her ninja short sword. Not only would the smaller blade be more efficient in the crowded tree tops, she could wield it one handed.

With a cry she leapt from the tree, her sword blurring as she sliced through dozens of tendrils that snaked out at lightening speed to catch her. One managed to get past her guard, wrapping around her boot and jerking her upside down. The vine coiled around her ankle, squeezing thorns deep into her flesh. TA screamed and used the momentum of her fall to spin around and slice the vine, freeing herself to land on a branch beneath. As she landed, she could feel the thorns still in her ankle, weakening it. She hobbled for a moment, caught off balance as the monster, sensing her weakness, rushed in. A thick vine wrapped around her sword arm, and the ninjaken slipped out of suddenly nerveless fingers.
“Oh Crap.” TA was jerked off the branch and wrapped tight into the belly of the leafy octopus, which then swung its way back to its mistress.

Yama-Uba had made herself comfortable, resting after her battle with the vampire. She heard the crackling in the forest and smiled as her spell created creatures returned from their hunt. An enormous leafy ball swung into the clearing and began unraveling, revealing a worse-for-wear TA caught in its leafy web.

“Well, well little thief,” the witch cackled, “Now you will face justice for stealing my prey. Now you will face the wrath of Yama-Uba!” Her eyes rolled back and power filled the small forest clearing as Yama-Uba formed her spell. So intent was she on her crafting, she didn’t notice when a large, bat-shaped shadow unfolded in the darkness directly behind her. BSA stepped out of the shadows, grabbed the witch’s hair, tilted her head to the side and bit deeply into her neck. As the vampire fed, the power drained out of the clearing, the vines wilted and TA dropped to forest floor.
“Ew,” BSA said as she dropped the old woman, “You owe me big time TA. She tasted like pickles and old apples.” BSA walked over to the prostrate TA, still lying on the ground. “Hey,” she gently prodded her friend, “I thought ninja always landed on their feet. Like cats.” BSA’s eyes widened as she took in her friend’s injuries. “Oh crap,” she breathed, “C’mon DFL! Get your over-privileged butt over here pronto!”

The chicken house ran into the clearing, ending nervously away from the witch on the ground.
DFL stuck her head out of a front window, “Get my what over here?” she demanded.
“Dude, TA’s hurt. Help me get her inside.” The chicken house settled on the ground and they lifted the wounded ninja inside.
DFL noticed the witch lying on the ground, “Did you kill her?”
“That one? No. She had too much power to drain it all.” BSA replied.
“Well, maybe we should do something about that.” DFL said thoughtfully.
“You’re the evil dictator be my guest.” BSA waved at the witch.
“Dictator’s don’t do that kind of thing personally. That’s why we have flunkies. Besides you’re a vampire.” She pointed out.
“But I’m a nice vampire! I like kittens, and puppies, and hugs. I can’t kill an old lady while she’s sleeping.”
“Well neither can I! It would make WW very upset. And she needs peace and quiet to heal right now.” DFL pointed out.
“Fine, well then let’s get out of here before the witch wakes up.” BSA conceded. The chicken house shuttered in agreement. The house rose in the air as its long legs stretched out, and ran in the first direction it determined as “away.”
“Whoa.” BSA said as she started sliding towards a wall. “Can you control this thing?”
“Of course I can.” DFL responded angrily, “I just need to know where we’re going first.”
“Well, I think we need help and fast. TA’s bleeding all over the entryway rug.” BSA pointed out.
“Can you stop it.” DFL looked at her friend, “I don’t do blood.”
“Well, I have some bandages and ointment left over from the ‘Bahamas Incident’ but that’s it. Get the Bag O’Stuff to make some super band-aids or something.” BSA looked over at the BOS. It was snuggled against TA’s side.
“I think it’s pining.” DFL said, “all right, you do your first aid thing. I’ll find a doctor.”

So where does DFL do?

A: Direct the chicken house to the nearest town
B: Call 911 on her cell
C: Search the forest for help
D: Wait for Deus Ex Machina


Authors note: The scenario for this bit is depressingly familiar, since, whenever I play a RPG, my character ALWAYS gets the snot beat out of them. I then spent the next part of the game watching my comrades try and find a way to heal me.

Good times. Good times.

Story: The Hunt for WW Part Tres

The witch, Yama-Uba, grinned as burning shards fell around her. She called the night wind and inhaled deeply as it brushed past her face. Through the smoke she could smell blood and fear. Her victim had somehow escaped the fireball, but not unscathed. She walked around the tree and knelt on the dark spotted grass. Her long fingers swept across the forest floor, wiping up the fresh blood. Rubbing it between thumb and forefinger, she closed her eyes and cast her spell, using the blood to forge a link to the thief.

There. In her mind, Yama-Uba saw a small red spark, racing through her mental map of the forest. So, the little rat was running was she? She had stolen lawful prey from Yama-Uba and would answer for her crime. The powerful witch gathered her magics around her, crafting a retrieval spell that would both ensnare and punish. Yama-Uba fueled the spell with her own rage, working it up to a fever pitch before unleashing it into the forest.

As the spell energy left her, Yama-Uba permitted herself a tired, triumphant moment to appreciate her own spellcrafting before settling herself comfortably at the base of a tree. A tree that wasn’t on fire.

Yama-Uba leaned back against the trunk, closed her eyes briefly and then said “You might as well come out. I know you’re there.”
The darkness seemed to unfold and a small, pale woman dressed all in black stood in front the witch.
“A bit late aren’t you?” Yama-Uba taunted the woman.
“I wanted to make a dramatic entrance” BSA replied cheerfully.
YU harrumphed and flicked her fingers, launching a hex at the sassy wench. The hex flew, faster than thought, only to bounce harmlessly off an unseen barrier. BSA smiled, casually checking her manicure as she commented, “Nice curse. For an old lady.”
YU frowned, “I can still teach a young witch some manners.” Her hair began to float wildly around her head.
“I’m a vampire actually.” BSA chimed helpfully, her eyes turning red as she focused her powers.


They locked gazes. The two women stood motionless as they used their powers to try and overcome the other’s mind. Minutes ticked by. The witch’s hair fell flat. Another minute. BSA felt sweat trickling down her face, but she didn’t dare break eye contact. She was a vampire for pity’s sake; she should be able to hypnotize an old lady.

BSA focused and broke through yet another psychic barrier only to sense the witch’s mind control spell, an oily snaky thing, trying to creep in while she was distracted. She pictured a rolling ocean wave, scooping up the oily spell and carrying it back to the witch. The spell wriggled madly in the waves only to be dashed against the witch’s mental barriers. BSA’s felt a flash of triumph as the spell bounced off the wall, fragmenting into hundreds of little pieces. As the spell fragments fell off the wall and back into the water, they began to change. The witch smiled as each tiny fragment turned into a fish. BSA’s triumph turned to horror as an entire school of frenzied piranha rushed her mental defenses. She changed the water to sand. In her mind, she called up massive desert dunes to suffocate the piranha but the little fish continued to swim through the sand; their jaws chomping madly.

BSA raised a hand as she wrestled for control of the spell. She felt a flash of pain as she raised a massive wall of sand and changed it to brick. The fish leapt over it. She changed the wall to glass and crashed it down on top of the piranha, shattering it into thousands of deadly shards. Yama-Uba gasped as the shards shredded the piranha. “That should kill the little monsters” BSA thought fiercely, “and just in time too.” The strain of the battle was taking its toll. She could feel the sweat through her suit jacket. She lifted the broken glass and crushed it into a large, spiky ball. With enough force it would blast straight through the old woman’s defenses. As the last of the glass lifted off the piranhas they jumped upright, suddenly encased in armor that sprouted eight-jointed legs as they rushed en masse towards BSA.
“Oh Sick!” yelled BSA. Her concentration was broken and BSA knew had to run before Yama-Uba took over her mind. BSA dropped eye contact and burst into dozens of bats winging madly away.
Yama-Uba let her flee. The score with the vampire would be settled later. The thief had to be dealt with now.

The Rescue Part II

Meanwhile, back at the chicken house, DFL slumped against the cushions in her mediation room. It was open and airy, with a small fountain that burbled happily over smooth dark stones. She had come here after the planning session (Operation: Eminent Domain) to meditate, separating her consciousness from her body to enter the astral plane. The forest was even creepier when viewed through spiritual eyes. In her astral form DFL could see the wild magic pulsing throughout the forest as she sped to her designated spot. Spirits of earth, air and water eyed her passing, some with way too many eyes, and DFL vowed that if she was eaten, she would never speak to her friends again. She waited near the trap, staying well away from any trees until an exhausted Wonder Woman slogged through. TA sprung her trap, the witch disappeared and WW promptly passed out. Right. Time to go to work. With a sigh DFL flowed into WW’s mind, and suddenly found herself surrounded by stars, stripes, and cows.

“Always with the cows, this girl.” DFL tisked , “Very well. Time to stand up.”
WW opened her eyes and stood up. DFL felt very, very tall. And imposing. And had a sudden urge to pound something. Possessing WW was the psychic equivalent of driving a hummer to the grocery store. Despite these urges DFL tried to stay low to the ground, avoiding the witch’s attention. She was carefully picking her way to the chicken house when an explosion rocked the forest floor. A ball of heat and sound smashed WW/DFL into the ground, followed by a shotgun hail of splinters. As the last of the splinters bounced off her leather jacket, DFL lifted her head and surveyed the damage. Most of the trees around her were smoldering, some were still on fire, and the witch was nowhere to be seen. It was definitely time to get out of there. DFL decided to forego sneaking, since WW wasn’t built for it anyway, and raced to the chicken house.

If someone happened to observe this frantic flight through the woods, they might have made the observation, “Dude. Wonder Woman totally runs like a girl.”

Story: The Battle for WW Part I

This is turning out a little longer than I thought it would, so I'm posting it in installments.

Once the whole thing is posted, there will be options and a chance to vote.

When we last left our heroes, they had managed to secure the chicken house with the use of Extreme Home Makeover Pixies and Cookies. The pixies did such a good job however, that the girls felt like they couldn't just hand the house over to the evil witch. I mean, she probably wouldn't even CRY. So they decided to rescue WW and steal the house.
***

Dusk in an enchanted forest is a time of power. As the sun sets and the shadows grow the tricksters come out to dance and play. A few tenacious rays grasped at outlying tree branches, stretching ever thinner to the horizon. WW knew exactly how they felt. She had tried everything to rid the mountain witch from her back and yet she, a princess of the Amazons, had been herd-ridden throughout this accursed forest. Her muscles burned and cramped as she continued to slog, magic bidden, on the witch’s errand. An intense pain flared through her chest with each breath. She felt dizzy and disoriented, and she was certain that the fireflies were using their lights to spell out dirty words. Well she would not allow this outrage against common decency to stand! Once freed from her geas, she would lead an Amazonian Censor Review Board that would take the shine right out of those miserable little bugs. She swore it on her honor as an Amazon.

A slightly more rational part of WW’s mind wondered if she had a concussion.

There was the sharp twang of a trip wire and suddenly the weight of the witch was gone from her back. WW stopped running, dropped to her knees, and then fell full length on the forest floor. She had a brief moment to revel in the sheer ecstasy of not moving before she passed out.

TA felt a fierce flash of triumph as her tripwire slapped the witch from WW’s back. The old woman fell with a shriek of rage as TA threw four poison smoke balls after her. The witch bounced once and rolled to her feet, her deft movements at odds with her old crone appearance. She whirled her staff around her, gathering the poisonous smoke clouds and dispersing them harmlessly with her magic. She searched the surrounding trees, but TA had already disappeared into the dusk.

“Well well, little warrior” the crone growled, “it takes skill to sneak up on me.” The witch’s eyes took on a golden hue, her hair floating madly around her as she gathered her power. “Of course, you’re not the only one who gains strength from the night.” Again she scanned the surrounding trees, stopping at TA’s hiding spot she smiled and pointed a finger. The tree exploded.

Story: The Hunt for WW: Part II

**A long panning helicopter shot of thick, verdant forest. Birds chirp, squirrels nibble at a cuteness factor of 11, and a woman in a nun’s habit spins madly in a field of wildflowers. The camera zooms past all of these to a slightly less pristine area of the forest. Trees have been uprooted, their branches raking up ash from long scorch marks along the ground. Rocks have been blasted out of the ground, and the ground has been churned to a thick, gooey mud. The camera follows the path of destruction, through the trees to the edge of a small lake. On the shore, a Swedish cottage on chicken legs scratches at the sand nervously. To its left a small ninja stands, watching the cottage intently as she holds a can of aerosol hairspray and a lighter at the ready. She is also wearing a bright orange construction vest and a hard hat over her traditional ninja black. On the right is DFL, who is also wearing construction gear over her clothes, although her safety vest has been tailored and the helmet is cocked at a rakish angle. She idly taps a roll of blueprints against her leg as BSA, in front of the house, also in construction safety gear, tries to talk the cottage into settling down.**

“Look” BSA explains, “I don’t think you fully understand the benefits of indoor plumbing. You wouldn’t have to put up with that obnoxious outhouse anymore. Plus when you’re all beautiful, we can have an open house and give tours. There will even be cookies! Look!” She proudly held up a platter full of chocolate chip cookies. “Who can say no to cookies?”

The cottage looked skeptical. BSA sighed, “This just isn’t the same without the bus. We need the bus!” She glared at TA.
“I’m not asking the Bag o’Stuff for a bus and neither are you. Why, it gets the shivers just thinking about it.” TA answered calmly, never taking her eyes off the chicken house.
“Fine” BSA grumbled then addressed the cottage again, “Well, we’ve sent your owner on a very special tour of this enchanted forest, guided by our very own Amazon, WW.”

** Cut shot to WW, who for some reason is up a pine tree, covered in sap and fending off angry squirrels while the witch laughs. ***

“See?” BSA asked the cottage, “They’re having a lovely time. Now’s your chance to become the house you’ve always wanted to be.”

The cottage sighed and started to sink, its chicken feet disappearing as it came to rest gently on the ground. DFL danced in, “Yeah! I win! I win! I win!”
“What do you mean YOU win?” BSA demanded as she walked into the cottage. It was my brilliant scheme.”
“Okay, so we have the house, now what?” TA entered the cottage cautiously, looking for traps hidden in the quiet, Swedish décor.
“Hmm, I don’t suppose you know any contractors that happen to live in an enchanted forest?” BSA asked her friends. The both looked at her blankly but outside the window there was a chorus of high pitched twitters.
The three friends walked over to the window and looked down, where an army of tiny pixie contractors had appeared.
“What the ..” TA muttered
“We love Extreme Home Makeover!” one yelled.
“Ty Pennington!!” another screamed before fainting.
“Where’s the bus?” a third piped up. TA tried to stomp on that one, but he dodged her easily.
“Let’s help these people out!” the little elves cried as they began swarming into the house.
“Oh Sick!” one of the little brownies had landed on DFL’s shoulder. She flicked him off, “Hey, it stole my blueprints! What are these things?” She demanded over the sudden roar of hammers, saws, and power tools.
“Contractors!” BSA clapped her hands, “They just can’t resist the lure of EHM.”
Once the dust settled and the pixies marched off (each one receiving a cookie for their work) our heroes took a tour of the new, Victorian Chicken House. There was a winding staircase, curving majestically down to a marbled foyer. Large windows lit expansive rooms causing the rich, dark wooden furniture to shine with glossy pride. The bedrooms upstairs were catered to the tastes of each of our four heroines.
“It’s lovely DFL” BSA said as she emerged from her walk-in closet, “But it’s supposed to be designed around the old witch lady. You know, the one that’s kidnapped WW?”
“Yes, but there’s been a change in plan. I’ve commandeered this house in the interest of no longer hiking around this ridiculous forest.”
“I think the witch might object and as fun as it would be to steal a walking house, we still have to get WW back.” TA pointed out helpfully.
“Perhaps we could talk her into selling it.” BSA eagerly whipped out a note pad and calculator and began scribbling furiously.
“Well whatever, but we are taking this house. It’s getting dark and Dictators don’t camp.”

So kids, do our heroes:

A: Trade the house for WW
B: Steal the house and WW
C: Attempt to buy the house after freeing WW
D: Run off and join the pixie clan

Story: The Hunt for WW, Part I

When we left off, our intrepid heroes were wandering a strange world, trying to find a way home, having lunch when WW was kidnapped my a mountain witch. The rescue option with the most votes was "set a trap with cookies."

So, are we all caught up?

Lovely.

With the cackling old woman spurring her on, WW plunged into the forest, careening off trees and smashing through brush. With a blur of movement, TA followed, leaping through the treetops as she followed them into the forest. On the ground BSA, once again in wolf form, easily kept pace with the sprinting Amazon. Occasionally, they would attack the pair, attempting to dislodge the witch without hurting their friend. The witch blocked all their attacks, laughing as she forced WW to attack her would-be rescuers.
Back in the original clearing, DFL listened to the insane cackling, battle-cries, scenery-crashing, shuriken-whistling, ancient herd yodeling, and gleeful howling that accompanied the high speed forest chase. Sighing she settled herself against a tree. In the distance, glass shattered and metal gears screamed in agony as a battle-grade10-key was destroyed. A wolf’s grief-stricken wail echoed eerily from the forest, followed by more crashings, the small concussive boom of light ordinance, and the creaking of stressed timber as several trees crashed to the ground. DFL sighed again, and relaxed back into a nice sunny spot. Running around playing in the forest really wasn’t her style. She wondered how long it would take for her teammates to get bored. Another tree groaned and crashed in the distance. Honestly, DFL mused, it was like being with a group of puppies. Literally in BSA’s case. The rumblings grew closer. Bushes near DFL’s clearing burst apart as a charming Swiss cottage with enormous chicken legs plowed through. Draperies fluttered madly and doors swung wildly as the panicked cottage raced through the clearing. Just as it was about to plunge back into the trees a small ninja attacked from above, delivering a series of powerful kicks to the roof and façade. The cottage stumbled back a few paces before casually batting TA out of the air with one swift chicken foot. TA recovered from the hit, flipping through the air to slide across the ground, feet and hands digging small trenches in the soft earth. BSA sailed over the bushes, snarling and furious she began snapping at the cottage’s heels. Desperate to get away from the angry wolf the cottage once again plowed forward crashing back into the forest with BSA leaving angry bite marks all along the back deck. Finally a winded WW ran through the large path of broken shrubbery, while the witch screeched, “You leave my house alone you filthy mutt!!” They plunged after the cottage and back into the forest.
DFL lowered her aviators and cocked an eyebrow at TA who had landed nearby.
“Having fun?” She drawled.
“The witch won’t let WW go unless we catch that stupid chicken house.” TA explained, brushing dirt off her hands. “But it’s fast and tough, and encased in magical protection.”
DFL replaced her aviators, “This is going to take all day,” she grumbled.
“Can’t you take over its mind?” TA asked, “Or make it into kindling with your dictator powers?”
Dictator frowned, “I don’t think it has a mind, and it’s moving too fast and too erratically for me to catch.”
“Right,” TA closed her eyes and began forming a complicated set of symbols with her fingers. “I’ll just have to bring it down with my ninja flame-creating powers.” She intoned.
“TA sweetie,” DFL leaned forward, “Just because we’re in a magical forest doesn’t mean you have magical ninja powers.”
“Ha! Well then you how do you explain this?!” TA closed her eyes, and then yelled “Fireball JUTSU!!” There was a puff of smoke, and when it cleared, TA stood in the exact same spot, hands extended dramatically.
“What was that supposed to do exactly?” DFL asked.
“There should have been a fireball” TA peevishly waved away smoke, “Dang it!”
“I think you may be watching too much anime.”
“They’re bound to start generating soon. What’s the point of being lost in a fantasy world if you don’t get flamethrower powers?” TA demanded.
“Right,” DFL responded warily, “We should probably focus on the whole rescue WW thing right now. Let’s get BSA back here and come up with some sort of plan.”
Her eyes glazed over as she sent out her mental commands. Soon, BSA came romping back into the clearing, her mouth full of ornate roof shingles. She spat them out and morphed back into her human shape, “What’s up kids? There’s a magical house that needs tearing apart.”
“We can’t tear the house apart. We need it to rescue WW.” TA pointed out.
“It destroyed my favorite ten key. It’s going down.”
“Well, obviously it doesn’t want to live with the old lady. So if we catch it and give it back, that would be an even better revenge for you.” DFL argued.
“Very well,” BSA folded her arms, “what do you propose?”
“A trap!” TA exclaimed.
“You’re a ninja. You always want to set a trap.” DFL replied.
“Besides, how do you trap a house?” BSA asked. Then she stopped. An amazing idea lit her eyes. “Oh I’ve got it. I’m about to be brilliant.” She started to laugh, TA and DFL moved back a few steps. “It’s time for Extreme Home Makeover!!” BSA yelled triumphantly.

Story: Part the 20th

In which we finally continue, there is a surplus of adverbs, and BSA has a dance number.

Actually, it's been a little while so let's do a quick recap. Our four superheros were fighting the evil punk forces of Dr. Nose when they were suddenly sucked through a portal and found themselves in a strange new world. After narrowly avoiding a copyright infringement lawsuit, they defeated a faun in a game of boggle, thereby winning directions to "The Croquet Players" who might have some idea of how to get them home. So they are currently on their way to find these Players.

When we left, I asked you to pick the random encouter our heros were sure to have on their way to the Enchanted Forest.

Since I only got three votes, one each for A (Peanut Gallery), B (Hippies), C (Yama-Uba, the Mtn. Crone), I rolled a dice to see what our next adventure would be. . . and the dice roll is 5! So Yama-Uba the mountain crone.

Fresh from their triumph over the boggle faun, our four heroines continued on their way to the Menacing and Enchanted Forest. (MAEF) The mighty Amazon warrior Wonder Woman (WW) led the way, striding gallantly in her patriotic leathers. Her short blonde curls glinted in the sunlight as they picked their way below the snowline. Behind her was the fastidious Blood Sucking Accountant (BSA) still in Armani, still fond of puppies and hugs. The small, blonde BSA easily kept up with the much taller Amazon, singing a jaunty tune (Fergilicious) as she hiked. Much farther behind was the also-blonde Dictator For Life (DFL), who had changed from her toga to an outfit more suitable for the rough climate. Refusing to change out of her Sartore boots, (painful blisters) DFL lagged behind, muttering unpleasant things about mud, trails, and nature in general (“camping sucks.”) Bringing up the rear guard was The Author (TA) keeping to the shadows and spying for trouble, her ninja cowl made it impossible to determine her hair color(brownish-reddish-darkish.)

WW wormed her way through a tricky set of boulders and decided that this particular patch of mud would make for a good rest stop.
“Why are we stopping?” BSA asked brightly.
“Let’s wait for DFL and TA to catch up. I don’t like being so spread out on this mountain. It seems to have. . . intentions.” She scanned the horizon suspiciously.
“Okay. Want to see my new dance? I call it, ‘Hip Hop on a mountain.'”
So BSA danced while WW tried to think of a polite way to say, “No,” or “Please stop,” or “If I have to hear that song one more time I’m going to start drop kicking badgers.” Fortunately for the badgers, DFL finally made it round the boulders.
“This sucks! I am covered in mud!” DFL pointed dramatically at her boots and jeans.
TA appeared on top of a boulder, “Is it time for lunch? I’m starving.”
“Meatloaf time!” crowed WW.
“Yeah, let’s eat!” chimed in BSA, “let’s see how the Bag O’ Stuff (BOS) does duck a l’orange.”
“I vote for Cajun Grilled Shrimp (CGS).” DFL replied.
“What’s wrong with meatloaf?” an ignored WW wondered.
“I think the BOS is tired, guys. All I’m getting is ham and cheese.” TA distributed sandwiches.
As our heroes courageously ate their lunch, they were interrupted by a thin, quivery voice calling for help.
“Help!” the thin, quivery said. (Sorry, couldn’t help myself)
Everyone stopped mid-bite except WW. “To the rescue!” she yelled as she threw down her sandwich and raced towards the voice.
“Hey!” yelled TA, “The BOS worked hard on that!”
WW ploughed through the scrub, following the calls of distress. Behind her, she could sense her compatriots following, and in one case, cursing (guess who?) She burst into a small clearing, where a pile of dirty rags holding a knobby walking stick sat mewling on the rotted remains of a half-buried log. As the rags shifted WW could see that it was actually an old and extremely dirty woman. Her face was like an overripe apple, withered and brown as greasy wisps of grey hair crept from a tattered hood.
“Oh! Oh! Oh I’ve lost my house!” the old woman cried as she rocked back and forth on the log, her hands constantly twisting on the walking stick.
“It’s all right ma’am, I’m here to help.” WW approached her cautiously as her teammates arrived on the scene. “It’s all right guys” WW waved them back, “She’s just lost.”
“Oh what will I do?! I’ve lost my house and it’s getting dark!” The old woman looked plaintively up at WW.
"Dark?" muttered TA, "it's full noon."
DFL Looked at her and rolled her eyes as she made the universal "Crazy Cat Lady" sign.
“We’ll help you find your house. I promise.” WW said as she gently placed a hand in the general vicinity of where an arm might logically be.
“You will?” she snuffled pathetically.
“You have my super hero word of honor ma’am.” WW replied solemnly, her face somber despite the miasma of pungent odors swirling about her.
“Good!” the OW crowed, her voice suddenly strong. In an eye blink she grabbed WW’s shoulder, swinging up from the log and onto WW’s back. Two shuriken flew towards the OW’s head only to thunk solidly into her staff. BSA tossed a ten-key paper grenade but it exploded uselessly around the pair.
“She has a shield!” called BSA.
“That’s totally cheating!” DFL complained as the rocks she summoned hung uselessly in the air.
“Get off of me you crazy old bat!” WW yelled as she tried to grab the woman behind her, but every time she came close the OW whapped her head with the stick.
“Now, now, you gave Yama-Uba (YU) your word, and until you fulfill it you are my slave.” She cackled evilly. “Now, let’s go get that house.” Yama-Uba grabbed two fistfuls of WW’s hair, clucked her tongue and kicked her heels into WW’s ribs.
“I Am Not A Horse!!” WW yelled defiantly but, to her horror, her legs began to move under YU’s commands.
“Faster! Faster!” screeched YU and WW sprinted off into the brush.
“Well, crap.” Sighed DFL.

Our heros must save WW! Do they:

A: Track them down
B: Set an elaborate trap
C: Have milk and cookies
D: Cut their losses

Only you can decide! Tune in next time for: The Hunt for Wonder Woman!

Story: Part the 19th

In which difficult moral questions are addressed. Also, featuring a new acronym!

The last grain of sand gently plopped down in the hour glass.
“Time!” called WW.
“Hah!” The faun proudly displayed his sheet of parchment with the words snaking down in an elegant cursive hand.
BSA glanced at the list and with a competitive smirk remarked, “Oh! It’s so cute and little!!” With a flourish she whipped out a large pile of parchment, which landed in the center of the glade with a very solid THUD.
“What is that!?” the faun stammered.
“Where I come from it’s called a ‘ream’” BSA continued smugly, “Of course, after I got bored finding all possible word combinations I also calculated your AMT.”
“But…but, I’m a mystical fantasy creature! I don’t pay income tax!” The faun stared at the parchment in horror. “You know what? Never mind. We’re not even going to compare lists. I just want you to go away.”
“Yeah! I win! I win! I win!” DFL triumphed before breaking into a hacking cough.
“All right little goat dude, tell us how to get home!” WW menaced.
With a sigh and a withering glare the faun began. “You will need to find a quartet of powerful and ancient wizards known only as 'The Croquet Players.' Their ways are ancient and mysterious. They can be found in the Menacing and Enchanted Forest.” he sketched a quick map in the snow. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m taking my Boggle game and going home.” With a huff the faun grabbed his game and ran out of the glade.
“Finally, the word game is over” TA sighed as she stepped out of the shadows.
“There you are!” WW pointed dramatically.
“This sucks” coughed DFL. “Look at this map, the forest is forever away and probably lacking in amenities. Blue and Frozen is not a good look for me!”
A thick fur coat sailed across and landed on DFL. “Sweet! Mink!”
Everyone turned and stared at TA.
“What?” TA put on her innocent eyes.
“You stole that faun’s Magical Bag o’ Stuff!! That means there Is No Receipt!” BSA gasped in horror.
WW stared at TA in shock. “You can’t steal. We’re the good guys.”
“The technical term is ‘protaganist’ and stealing is part of the ninja lifestyle. Why I remember back at ninja school. . .”
“Well you’re part of our group now and we have a firm No Stealing policy. Isn’t that right DFL?”
DFL was trying on her new coat. “Oh yes, horrible. Horrible. There’s no denying the moral implications that stealing has on our status as heros.”
A can of Diet Coke landed at her feet. “But obviously TA was just requisitioning much needed supplies for our quest. Including such desperate commodities as a pair of Sartore leather knee boots, a Marc Jacobs satchel, and Brad Pitt.”
The boots and the bag plopped over by the Coke. DFL tapped her foot impatiently, coughing intermittently.
“It’s a Bag o’ Stuff.” TA pointed out, “inanimate objects only.”
“This is wrong!” WW made a grab for the ninja, but TA evaded it easily. “Back me up BSA!”
“Give me one of those bags and a Coke and we’re good.” BSA shrugged.
“Fine.” Growled WW as her face went red, “Then I want some whole milk!”
TA distributed her bribes, er supplies. “Great, now let’s head to the forest.”

The four friends headed for the MAEF, not realizing that it is the fate of all wandering adventurerers to have a random monster encounter between sets. Er chapters. Quests. Whatever. They had just passed the snow line and were making their way through the muddy countryside when they were set upon by:

A: The Peanut Gallery
B: Hippies
C: Yama-Uba, the mountain crone
D: Ekibiogami: The Japanese god of epidemic diseases such as plague and pestilence

Story: The Continuing

In which a faun posts his list.

Eyebrows furrowed in concentration the faun stared furiously at the boggle grid. The only sound in the glade was the furious scratching of feather pen on parchment as BSA scribbled like a madwoman. DFL, who normally was a boggle fiend, had succombed to the cold temperatures and lack of Diet Coke and was down with a nasty cold. TA was writing slowly and muttering something about Battleship and making "Kablooie" noises. WW was building a snowman, since word games were not a part of the Amazon way.

At last the final grains of sand in the ornate hourglass dropped and the contest was over. With a flourish, the faun produced his list:

Lawn
lawns
wan
pawn
pawns
mop
sin
sins
fit
sat
sate
lop
mite
mites
son
sons

Will BSA triumph? Will they ever get out of the snow? Will WW find a carrot for her snowman's nose? Will DFL manage to look fashionable while sick?

Stay tuned...

Story: VLAWMIN is so a word!!

Before I start, there has been some complaining that I ignore votes and go with whatever my little heart desires. To stomp out this unfortunate and baseless accusation (seriously, if I wanted to do that, I'd just write the story) I now offer the tally from our last segment.

Boggle: Three
Battleship with sound effects: One
Trivial Pursuit: One


And now.. on to our continuation.


The faun reached deep into his sack and pulled out a small plastic container. The bottom was bright blue and held a 5X5 grid. Sitting in the grid were dice with various letters stamped on the sides. A clear shell over the top protected the dice.
“We play Boggle” the faun announced seriously.
“YES!!” BSA screamed as she raised her fists triumphantly in the air.
“Sweet!” DFL said as she settled herself comfortable in the snow.
“Crap.” Swore TA.
“Boggle?” WW asked confused.
“Boggle” the faun explained “is played with a tray of 16 letter dice, which is shaken to get 16 random letters”
“But there are 25 dice, because the grid is 5X5.” BSA asserted, showing off her mathematical skills.
“Obviously someone used a different random generator” the faun signed flicking a dirty look at TA. “Anyway, you have three minutes” the faun reached into the sack and pulled out an ornate hour glass, “to find as many words as you can in the grid, according to the following rules:
• The letters must be adjoining in a 'chain'. (Letter cubes in the chain may be adjacent horizontally, vertically, or diagonally.)
• Words must contain at least three letters.
• No letter cube may be used more than once within a single word
• No foreign words
• No names
• Any challenged words have to be found in the dictionary

The faun then pulled out a large, leather bound Oxford’s English Dictionary. “One point will be awarded for each word that you find, that no one else does. 2 points will be awarded for words with 6 letters. Whoever has the most points wins.”
The faun pulled out pens and pencils and distributed them.
“That bag is amazing.” TA sighed, looking at it speculatively. The faun inched it closer to his side.
WW’s face creased in a frown as she regarded her writing implements, “Hey, I thought this was supposed to be all like a fantasy environment but you gave me a bic!”
“Fine” the exasperated faun muttered. He swiped their papers and pens for parchment and ink feather pens. “Happy now?”
“Yes.” WW said smugly as she dipped her pen into the ink well.
“No.” stated BSA, TA, and DFL in horror.
“Good. Let’s start.” The faun picked up the grid and shook it vigorously. “Okay ladies, time starts… NOW!”

All right girls, have fun, no fights, no cheating, and no dumping ink wells over Wonder Woman’s head.

V O L I N
L P M J C
A W F I T
A N S E A
O S I S S

Chapter the Sixteenth

In which there are many exclamation points!!!!!!!1111!!!!!one!!!!

With the clickety-clack of little goat hooves a faun came tapping into the glade. He had a long red scarf wrapped around his neck to protect him from the cold. He also carried a small knapsack over his shoulder. He looked up and stopped as our heroes and faun stared at each other in shock.
TA was the first to recover, “I notice that you have neither packages nor umbrella, but so help me if your name starts with the letter ‘T’ I’m taking you down.”
“Oh my goodness deary me!” the faun started “no no no my name starts with a … ‘S’ Mr., uh Smith. Yep that’s me.” He said helpfully as he surreptitiously reached into the knapsack. “And since you all seem like such nice and kind people, I’m going to play you a little song” he brought out a small, elegantly carved pan pipe.
“Watch out he’s reaching for his piece!” With a mighty bound WW leapt across the glade and smacked the pipe out of the faun’s hands. She then slid behind him and locked him in a full nelson, threw him in a dragon suplex and finished with a spinning bulldog.
“Whoa. I think you killed him. That’s it, no more WWE for you!” DFL admonished.
“Murder is not the Amazon way. He’s just knocked out. Besides, he was going to use his pipes to control our minds, and fill them with dreams, fantasies and naughty dancing!! He had to be stopped.”
“Mind control?” DFL asked.
“Naughty dancing?” BSA asked.
TA picked the pan pipe out of the snow. “Don’t even think about it you two.” She said as she deposited the pipe in one of her many secret pockets. She looked at the bruised and bloodied faun and sighed. “We really need to talk to him. Dictator, do you think you could wake him up?”
“Sure.” DFL glided over and gingerly took hold of his hair, lifting the faun’s head. “Hello in there! Wakey Wakey!”
“That’s not exactly what I meant.”
“Well I should get paid extra for touching him in the first place. His hygiene is less than fabulous. I’m not about to saunter into his mind” DFL huffed.
“Great. I guess we’ll just have to wait for him to wake up.” BSA sighed, throwing a reproachful look at WW.
“I’m not apologizing. That was a beautiful Nelson! YOU should apologize. I’m not apologizing.” WW turned beet red as she folded her arms and refused to apologize.
So our dauntless heroes waited for the faun to wake up. BSA amused herself by tying him up (don’t ask where she got the rope from. Trust me on this, you don’t want to know) DFL filed her nails, TA meditated and WW tried to explain the pros and cons of a full nelson versus a three quarter nelson. Eventually, the faun regained consciousness.
“Ow.” The faun said.
“All right you little twerp” BSA (bad cop) started “You’re going to tell us everything you know or we’re going to let the Amazon bounce you around some more.”
“No. Stop. Don’t hurt this innocent and obviously harmless faun.” DFL (good cop) drawled in bored tones as she checked her manicure. BSA shot her a dirty look.
“All right look” the faun explained carefully through his bruised and puffy lips. “I’m a mythical creature, you’re obviously heroes on some sort of quest. I just can’t give you information. You have to earn it.”
“How do we do that?” TA asked.
“The usual. Solve a riddle, find some impossible thing, beat me in a game..”
“Game! I vote game!” BSA cheered.
“Very well, untie me and bring me my knapsack.” The faun reached deep into the sack and pulled out:

A: Chess
B: Battleship
C: Boggle
D: Trivial Pursuit: Pop Culture Edition

Chapter Whatever

In which BSA has some truly sparkling dialogue.

“I say we head west” WW stated authoritatively, striking leadership pose #23 for dramatic effect.
BSA gave an aggrieved huff, the wolf version of “I told you so” and bounded westward through the drifts.
TA leapt from the tree top and rolled elegantly to the side of her teammates as they followed.
“So why do you think we should go west WW?” DFL queried, trying to keep her mind off her freezing feet.
“Well,” stated WW, “I really wanted to go South and search for penguins and/or polar bears, but then I remembered something my favorite cartographer professor used to tell us.”
“Oh? What was that?” TA asked.
“Go West, young man. Go West.”
DFL and TA shared a confused look.
“I think that might have been a history professor” TA replied at the same time DFL helpfully pointed out, “But you’re not a man.”
“I know that!” WW flushed a bright red as she spluttered “What I meant to say was that whenever I’m drawing maps west always seems easier for some reason. So logically, the west on this map should be the easiest direction as well.”
DFL raised her eyebrows, “Logically. Of course, how could it be any different?”
“Of course.” TA agreed (eyebrow status unknown due to ninja cowl.)
Just then our heroes came out of the trees and into a little glade, where a single black, iron lamppost brought the awkward conversation to a merciful end.
BSA was beside the lamp post, head high as she sniffed the wind intently. DFL and WW walked out to join her as TA continued to skulk along the tree line.
“Something about this place seems awfully familiar” TA said softly, “I don’t trust it.”
“You’re right. I know I’ve seen this before” DFL mused thoughtfully, “Hallmark greeting card?”
Suddenly, BSA’s growl rattled the peaceful glade, hackles raised as she crouched for an attack.
“What is it girl? What’s wrong” WW asked breathlessly.
“Bark BARK BARK wuff wuff bark bark BARK BARK!!”
“What’s that?! Little Timmy’s down the well!?!”
There was a quick squooching sound as BSA morphed back into her terrifying accountant form. She fixed WW with steely glare, “Don’t make me hurt you.” She sighed and looked at the other girls. “We’re surrounded by lawyers. Prepare yourselves.”
As if sensing her words, thick shadows spilled through the trees, surrounding the glade in an inky black circle. The shadows continued to pile on themselves until resolving into roughly humanoid shapes in power suits and armed with briefcases. Above the collar, the shadows swirled lazily in the rough approximation of a head.
“We are here to protect the intellectual property of the Disney Corporation and the C.S. Lewis estate. You will be sued. Resistance is futile.”
Under her mask TA blanched, “Oh crap. It was an accident, I swear!”
“Intent is irrelevant. You will cease and desist, or you will be destroyed.”
WW snapped her fingers, “I knew this looked familiar!”
With blinding speed TA flipped a shuriken at the lamppost, shattering the light.
“There!” She said triumphantly, now it’s a busted lamp post in the middle of a glade. That hasn’t been copyrighted!”
There was a brief silence as the shadows considered the now broken lamppost. They slowly began to melt away, their presence lingering watchfully in the darkness of the forest.
“Yeah, you better run!” BSA scoffed, “Nothing is scarier than an accountant!”
“I wonder what their rates are.” DFL wondered as visions of power danced in her head.
“Phew, that was close.” TA sighed.
“Well, I guess we should continue going west” WW said, picking her way through smashed glass across the glade.
However, our heroines’ westward trek was interrupted by the arrival of:

A: An attack squirrel
B: A woodsman
C: A faun in a long red scarf
D: This option is currently under construction. We apologize for any inconvenience.

Story Acronyms

Cause I'm too lazy to write out names. Bwa ha ha ha ha!!!

Acronyms:

TA: The Author
BSA: Blood Sucking Accountant
DFL: Dictator for Life
WW: Wonder Woman

Story: The Nile is just a river in Egypt!

A quick note: The following contains gratituous adjective use. I love me my adjectives.


The sun sank in a blaze of glorious orange and reds as the evening waves lapped at the soft white sands of the isolated beach. Four wicker beach chairs faced the ocean, the only objects for miles on the empty sands. The first chair was fully reclined for maximum power lounging. An average height blonde with long hair was flopped on top of it, taking her relaxation to such an extreme that at first glance she appeared to be dead. Only the small movements of her fashionable dark red bikini offered subtle signs of life. The second chair was half reclining and held a small blond whose pink paisley string bikini warred with the sun for eye searing brilliance. She was happily sipping cold fruity drinks with umbrellas in them as a flock of chocolate ice cream cones headed south in a ragged v. Some of the ice cream melted in the tropical sun, falling through the air to plop in the sand next to the third chair. “Well that was close,” said a very, very tall blond in a patriotic one piece. She looked relaxed in her upright chair, but was ready to burst into action as her eyes continuously scanned the surroundings for bad guys, hippies, and lemonade stands. She also had sand in her short cropped hair. She wasn’t sure how that happened, but was blaming TA for it anyway. The fourth chair was shrouded in shadow from an enormous beach umbrella. At first it appeared empty, but deep within the murky confines was a small ninja, in full ninja battle dress.
“You know” BSA remarked as she slurped the slushy remains of her second pina colada, “it wouldn’t kill you to wear a swimsuit to the beach.”
“Ninjas don’t do beachwear” came TA’s reply from deep within the chair, “where would I put my shuriken?”
“I thought ninja were supposed to blend in with the crowd” DFL drawled lazily.
“No, ninja are supposed to remain unseen until unleashed on are unsuspecting targets.” TA replied, pride in her voice at her un-alliteration.
Just then a flock of flamingoes landed, produced top hats and canes, and began a tap dance routine.
“You know” said WW, “This is getting really hard to be..”
“DON’T say it!!” demanded an alarmed DFL, propping up on her elbows, “I like this place. Just don’t look if it bothers you.”
BSA nodded in agreement as she grabbed a tiki cup from the sand. This one had two umbrellas and a fruit ka-bob. Excellent.
So the four girls continued to enjoy the peace, tranquility, and magic drink producing sands until a man in CSI coveralls wandered up and began collecting flamingo feathers into an evidence bag.
“Oh come on!” exclaimed TA “He’s doing that all wrong! Your hands aren’t even gloved you doofus!!”
There was a horrible tearing sound as reality reasserted itself and our heroes found themselves back in the cold wet snow: in a toga, a dog, jacketless and up a tree respectively.
“Bummer” stated WW.
“The AUTHOR!!” DFL shouted.
“Sorry!” TA called from her tree perch, “But he was doing it WRONG!”
“Great,” grumbled DFL, “now I’m cold and wet again and we don’t even have a fire”
“Well” TA mused aloud, “there’s this Jack London short story about a guy who tries to kill his dog so he can warm his hands inside its guts and keep from freezing to death.”
They all looked over at BSA, who flattened her ears and growled, showing all her teeth.
“Not that We would ever do such a thing” DFL remanded, throwing TA a dirty look.
“No no, of course not! I was only discussing literature.”
“We should really get going” WW said nervously. She definitely did not want her teammates to start fighting each other. “So, let’s head ..”

A. North
B. West
C. East
D. There is no South. Let’s say, oh I don’t know, let’s say it ends in a big cliff. Pick a different direction.

The Cold Door

Helpful Acronyms:

DFL: Dictator For Life
TA: The Author
WW: Wonder Woman
BSA: Blood Sucking Accountant

In our last installment, our heroes found themselves in a house of many doors, where they were faced with choosing either a normal door, a burned door, a scratched door, or a cold door.


“Logically, a perfectly normal, non-battered door would be our best bet” TA pointed out as BSA joined them on the ground floor.
“Agreed, but there are many normal doors. How do we pick just one?” wondered Wonder Woman.
“Simple. By using the tenants of Bayesian probability we will be able to deduce which door would lead us to a safe and harmless exit.” TA responded.
“Nonsense” BSA scoffed, “only the objective principles of frequency probability will allow for the rejection or non-rejection of this type of statistical hypotheses.”
“What about Jaynes’ principle of maximum entropy?” TA responded vigorously.
“What about it? Nothing about any of these doors offers testable information. They’re the Normal doors!” BSA argued.
“Guys?” WW gallantly interrupted, thus saving the reader from further statistical discussion, “What’s DFL doing?” They all looked over at the still bemused Dictator who, having found a cold door and believing it to be the entrance to a walk-in freezer, had continued her personal quest for a Diet Coke.
“No wait!” BSA cried in dawning horror as DFL disappeared into an icy blast. WW leapt heroically to the rescue and was also consumed by the frigid light bursting from the still opening door.
“Well, crap” TA responded in surprise as the icy blast wrapped around her, spreading frost patterns across her gi as she was sucked towards the now wide open door.
“Oh man, I hate the cold!” BSA whined as she and TA were pulled into the light, the door slamming shut with a deep boom behind them.

As the light faded our heroes found themselves in a thick grove of pine trees, whose boughs creaked ominously under heavy weights of snow. Fat, heavy flakes continued to drift from a leaden sky, their soft landings the only sound in the cold, muffled atmosphere.
“The only sound except for the ominous creaking you mentioned in the first sentence” BSA snidely pointed out. TA glowered.
“Do you want to do the introductory narration?” she demanded, the snow crunching under her feet as the air trapped in the crystals compressed...
“Wait a minute” interrupted BSA, “you researched the sound of snow crunching?!”
“I’m very thorough” TA replied haughtily. BSA’s laughter rang eerily through the grove until a large load of snow dropped off a convenient branch and onto her head.
“Hey!” BSA grimaced in disgust as she wiped snow off her face, “This is a silk shirt! Obviously, a change of costume is in order.” She concentrated briefly and morphed into a large, tawny wolf.
Meanwhile, under a nearby tree, DFL pulled herself out of a drift as the cold finally shocked her into full consciousness.
“Why did I pick the cold door? I’m in a freaking toga!” She wondered aloud as she started to shiver. WW shrugged and waded over to the tree, removing her thick leather jacket which she handed to the chilled Dictator. DFL gingerly took it, holding the leather away from her as fashion sense warred with common sense. Finally, she took one last look at its patriotic glory before closing her eyes, taking a deep breath, and slipping into its voluminous confines.
“I know I was surprised” TA confided as she glided into the shadows, “we should find shelter before Dictator freezes.” WW, still comfortable in her patriotic tank top and golden bracers, scoured the ground with her Amazon hunting skills.
“There seems to be a path leading North” she stated, pointing dramatically at a patch of snowy ground. A sharp bark drew their attention to BSA’s tail, which was the only part of her they could see in the drifts, and which appeared to be wagging in a Westerly direction.
“I don’t care which way we go as long as there’s a luxury hotel at the end of it” DFL stated firmly. TA’s voice floated down from the tree tops, “It all looks the same from up here!”
“That’s because you’re facing East!” WW called.
There was a moment of silence while this nugget of information was considered.
“Well it’s not like the flipping sun is out! How was I supposed to know?!” There was a rustling of branches and then “Okay, well I’ve circled the whole tree and all I’ve seen in all directions is a bunch of trees and snow. Make of that what you will.”

So, what direction should they choose:

A. North
B. West
C. East
D. Continued State of Denial

A House of Many Doors

BSA slid out of the haystack as she finished buttoning up her shirt. Behind her, a pale muscular German in lederhosen tried to follow but fell back exhausted. BSA turned to him with an aggrieved huff and a smile as she adjusted her jet cufflinks. “Oh now you’ve wrinkled my jacket shatzie, maybe you should just lie there and rest for awhile.” She bent down to retrieve the crumpled suit jacket, stealing another kiss from her latest conquest. His lips were cold, and his chest wasn’t moving. Worried, BSA searched for a pulse. Did she kill him? She became more frantic as memories crowded her mind. Candles, moonlight, that stupid Chihuahua, and a lifeless Fernando, clutched in her arms over spilled reams of black carbon paper.

She awoke with a gasp and found herself lying on a cold tile floor. The tiles were a dingy white, with even dingier grey tiles forming diamond patterns. Grimacing at the tasteless floor décor BSA sat up and looked for her teammates, who she found flopped on the floor around her. WW was beginning to stir, but TA and DFL were still out. They were so cute when they were asleep! BSA resisted an urge to tousle DFL’s hair and checked out their new surroundings.

They were in the center of a large, narrow, oval shaped hall. The ground floor had white marble columns, topped at the second story by gothic arches painted a dark, petulant red. A second story balcony ran along the walls until it reached the ends of the gallery, where a white marble spiral staircase sloped gracefully between the floors. An ornate iron railing guarded the edge of the balcony, while affording a view to the center of the hall. Tall, windows over the staircases let in shafts of cold light, their high gothic points giving them a sinister, watchful look. The marble was worn and scratched, the paint was cracked, the air was stale and cold; BSA figured she could flip the whole room for about $20,000 dollars and sell it for $80,000. WW groaned and sat up, running a rueful hand through her short cropped hair she grunted “Where are we?”
“I’m not sure, you guard the others while I take a closer look.” With vampiric grace and speed BSA floated through the hall, noticing for the first time a series of heavy square doors set into the walls.
“Hey batchick!” WW called, “You might want to get back here!”
BSA whisked back to the center, “What is it?”
“They’re waking up” WW pointed out helpfully.
TA groaned and stirred, the heavy protective fabric of her gi rasping over the tiles.
“Ow,” she said ruefully as she rubbed her cowl.
DFL reached up a languid hand, “I’m ready for my Diet Coke now” she drawled. When no drink was forthcoming, she cracked an eye open and took stock of the situation. “No coke, sub-par accommodations, creepy ambiance, this sucks.” She concluded.
“Does anyone know where we are?” asked TA.
Blank glances all around. “We need more information.” TA sighed.
“Obviously we’re dealing with some powerful magics.” BSA pointed out, “Not only were all four of us transported, but WW’s even been cleaned up!
WW blushed as she proudly petted her restored leathers. “I know!” she brightened, “The Old Crone of Knowledge. She’s great at this kind of stuff.” WW reached into a pocket, whipped out a flip phone, and jauntily started dialing. Her face quickly fell, “I can’t seem to get a signal.”
“It’s cool,” DFL replied as she whipped out an even smaller flip phone, “I have Verizon.”
She attempted to dial. A slight frown creased her brow as she attempted to dial again. She held the phone over her head and dialed again. Horror dawned on her face, “It… It can’t be. I have Verizon! No Coke and NO PHONE??!!” DFL’s voice raised in pitch as the glass shuddered in the heavy gothic windows.
The three girls stepped away from the enraged dictator. “Dude it’s okay, we’ll think of something” TA tried to placate her.
“No Phone?! I Need to TEXT!!” DFL yelled as the cracks in the walls shuddered and grew longer.
TA looked over at WW, “Hey I just got this leather nice again.” WW said defensively.
“And I want my frigging coke!” DFL demanded as the glass finally gave and shattered explosively across the staircases.
“Okay, why don’t you calm down and we’ll go look for a vending machine.” TA suggested cautiously while sliding into a defensive stance.
DFL shot a look at the dictator, the force of it ripping up the tile between them as the ninja flipped away from the glare and behind the Amazon.
As Dictator whirled towards the pair, a smoky fog coalesced behind her, forming into the darkly immaculate BSA, who grabbed Dictator from behind in a massive bear hug. “Group hug!” BSA crowed as DFL struggled to break free. But then her eyes rolled back and she sagged in BSA’s arms. “Come on you guys!” BSA looked over at WW and TA.
“Oh heck no.” TA answered as she put a restraining hand on WW’s arm, “I can see from here that you’re draining her chakra.”
“But she’s so much more calm now.” BSA looked down at DFL, “S’all right?”
“S’all right” DFL replied dreamily.
“See?” BSA pointed out happily.
“We need her coherent” TA warned.
“Fine” BSA conceded and released the Dictator.
“DFL, are you all right?” asked a wary Wonder Woman. (I had to spell it for that lovely alliteration).
DFL smiled, “I dreamed that I was in a story. And that I. . . was the star of that story.”
“Okay,” WW drawled, shooting a look at a smug BSA.
“Hey, at least she’s not trying to kill anybody” BSA sighed with an overdramatic frown, “caffeine addiction can be a brutal master.”
“We need to get out of here,” TA said, “have you looked around?”
“There is a row of doors in each wall, I haven’t been upstairs yet.” BSA reported.
“Check it out, we’ll start examining the doors down here.” TA replied.
BSA snapped off a cheeky salute before bursting into dozens of squeaky bats and flying off to the second story.
WW and TA shared a concerned look.
“I have a cross” WW said helpfully.
“And I have a wallet of wadded receipts.” TA replied thoughtfully
“I love rock and roll” DFL sighed happily.
“We should find an exit before she gets hungry” TA resolved, and WW nodded in agreement.
The doors were solid rectangles of dark stained oak. Iron rivets studded the surface and each door had a large, wrought iron door latch. None of them featured an exit sign.
“Just more doors up here!” called BSA, hanging over a railing.

As our heroes examined the doors more closely in the weak light they noticed that some of them appeared to have been blackened and warped, as if exposed to some great heat. Other doors radiated a biting cold, forming into frost crystals as the girls drew nearer.
Still others had deep scratches gouged into their wooden frames.

“I guess we’ll just have to pick one at random” WW conceded.

So, which door would you like to try?

A: Normal Door
B. Cold Door
C. Burned Door
D. Scratched Door

The Plot thickens

WW was working on her father’s farm high in the Idaho mountains. The cool mountain air had a bite to it as she hefted hay bales, tossing them lightly into piles with her amazon strength. WW was alone except for the soft mooing of contented cows, yet she was happy and at peace as she worked. Suddenly a sweet tenor sounded across the field, yodeling the ancient songs of the Germanic mountaineers. WW looked up, squinting against the early morning rays as that sweet manly yodel drew closer. Then he was there, cresting the fields in long strides, lederhosen straining over bulging muscles, taller than her, the man of her dreams swept WW up and pulled her close to his broad chest. She snuggled close with a contented sigh, enjoying his warmth and wet, acrid scent.

Wait a minute…

WW opened her eyes with a groan and wondered where she was and what she was snuggiling. Judging by the grit under her left cheek she was lying on cracked cement. Something heavy was on her back, pressing her closer to the pavement. A thick, gooey wetness filled her senses as it dripped down her face and body to lie in sticky puddles around her. As she grew more aware, the memories started to trickle back: the humidity, the punks, the Holstein?

With a roar WW pushed herself off the pavement and free of the mangled remains of the punitive cow. The bright sun dazzled her for a moment and she desperately tried to wipe the blood and gore from her face. She blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusted. The street was cracked and broken, with asphalt ripped open in jagged chunks. These broken pieces were whirling into the air, circling to pick up speed before launching into the scrabbling, ducking crowd of punks. In the middle of this rocky cyclone, DFL stood imperiously, eyes hard in concentration as her hands directed her missiles with deadly accuracy. BSA had nabbed some unfortunate soul and TA was nowhere to be seen; probably in need of rescuing WW harrumphed. Well, as the group powerhouse it was her duty to rout the rabble, for nothing could stop an Amazon in all her patriotic glory. WW looked fondly down at her flag inspired leathers, only to gasp in horrified astonishment at the damaged wreaked by various liquid cow goo. (I could go into detail here, but do you really want me to?) A slow, burning rage began to fill her mind as she reached over and ripped off a hind leg that had somehow remained intact. Someone was going to pay. She hefted the leg and screamed her battle cry, “FOR THE LEATHERS!!!” as she raced into the remaining punks. However, at the sight of this apparition the punks finally broke and began racing in all directions as they attempted to escape their cowey fate.

As the punk mob broke and run, WW dashed madly behind them, using her gruesome club to take down as many as possible. (Like whack-a-mole! Only wetter.)

****
And then there was one. The adventure of DFL.

As the punk mob raced towars TA and DFL, TA looked at the oncoming horde of punks, hefted her bo staff and said ruefully, “you know, ninjas were never meant for crowd control. We’re more of a one-on-one, spy, steal and assassinate type warrior, so I’ll leave this to your more applicable talents”
DFL rounded on the ninja with a furious gaze, “Don’t you dare!!” she began angrily but the diminutive ninja had already gone, fading into the dappled shadows of the park with nary a sound to betray her.
“Fine” DFL continued, just in case TA was still within hearing distance “Any Dictator worth her salt can put down an angry mob. I give you my permission to depart.”
She then turned her attention back to the punks. There were simply too many of them for her to control, and they were getting awfully close. She would have to get creative. DFL smirked at the oncoming horde and said “You dare to challenge me! I control the very streets!” She compressed her will into a tight ball and then using all her focus, mentally slammed it into the road. Under the psychic assault the street buckled and twisted throwing the punks off their feet. The asphalt stretched, bent, and finally split into giant cracks under the enormous pressure of the twisting street.
As the punks attempted to stand up on the remaining road, DFL felt a cold smile touch her lips. Time for step 2 in the rebel smackdown. She directed her gaze at the sidewalk in front of the “House” that may or may not be “White.” It was constructed of large, rectangular blocks of stone. She pointed at a stone block and commanded it to rise. Guiding it’s path with her finger, she flipped it into the stumbling punks where it landed with a satisfying thud. With a grunt she snagged a second block, they were heavier than she expected, and sent it flipping after the first. At the third she felt the first glistening drops on her forehead and became seriously annoyed. Dictators didn’t do heavy lifting. Where was WW when you needed her? She should be here flinging assorted masonry but nooo, that lazy amazon was taking a nap under a cow. She used her irritation to fuel the fourth block, taking out an entire line of punks as it blasted through the air.

Despite DFL’s best efforts, the mass of punks continued bravely on, working their way across the uneven pavement and dodging the stone blocks. One plucky lad actually made it within striking distance before DFL put up an imperious right hand and held him in his tracks. She looked deep into his eyes and intoned, “I’m not the Roman Emperor you’re looking for”
His eyes glazed over and he repeated back, “You’re not the Roman Emperor I’m looking for.”
Still locked in eye contact with the punk, DFL used her left hand to throw another block against his fellows. A sharp pain flared in her right temple, but she ignored it and continued with her enslaved punk.
“You will bring me a Diet Coke”
“I will bring you a Diet Coke” a small drool line was forming at the corner of his mouth.
“Then you will go home and rethink your fashion choices.”
The punk dutifully parroted this back and left as DFL launched yet another block, sending another flare of pain across her temples. DFL staggered under this new flash of pain and decided to change tactics. She focused on all the fragments of asphalt surrounding her and started sending them into the punk mob. Unfortunately, while the fragments stung and left welts they didn’t hamper the now angry and determined punks. DFL frowned, and started the fragments circling around her in a defensive sphere as she searched for new ammunition. The punks hung back, defensive as they looked for a break in the swirling debris. DFL’s eyes landed on the mangled cow and she smiled. That’s what she needed, just a little terminal velocity to turn the tide. She closed her eyes and focused on the fragments whirling around her, spinning them faster and faster until they cut through the air with a high pitched whine. DFL opened her eyes and started sending her high speed shrapnel into the mob with sharpshooter accuracy. Cries of pain rose up from their ranks and the advance stopped as everyone suddenly tried to be in the center of the crowd. DFL continued picking off the edges until suddenly, with a roar of “FOR THE LEATHERS!!” WW leapt into the fray wielding a cow leg and the punk army broke and ran. “Ew, gross” remarked DFL, her lip curling at the blood spatter as WW began chasing the retreating punks.

As the street cleared, DFL picked her way down to the PNC Bank, where BSA was adjusting her makeup in a compact. A pale punk lay limp at her feet. DFL nudged the punk with her foot and said “So will this one be a CPA?”
“Please” laughed BSA as she snapped the compact shut, “I don’t elevate just anyone into the elevated ranks of accounting.” She picked some invisible lint off her suit and looked over the punk. “Although he will balance his checkbook and manage his credit reports obsessively for the rest of his life.”
DFL smirked and replied “Hey, personal money management is important.”
BSA returned the smirk, “That’s right! He should thank me for doing him such a service.”
Just then SB’s unconscious form fell by them and DFL jumped slightly as TA asked “So, I see lots of bodies lying around, how many will be signing up as business majors next semester?”
“Just this one” BSA replied defensively.
“And you shouldn’t sneak up like that, it’s rude” DFL added.
“Hello, ninja?” TA pointed out helpfully, “by the way, where’s WW?” she asked.
BSA shrugged and DFL flapped her hand in the general direction of the park, “She went that way, playing with the leftovers. Did you know she spent most of the battle under a cow?”
“A cow?” said a confused BSA, “How did that happen?”
DFL was about to explain when suddenly, the sky grew dark and a strange, shrieking laugh echoed all around them. “At last!” it said “I have found a worthy adversary!!” The three heroines formed a tight circle, back to back as they tried to identify this strange new threat.
“This can’t be good” remarked TA.
“What IS that?” demanded DFL.
“Nice of it to block the sun,” BSA remarked casually, “I’m growing stronger by the second.”
The weird, shrieking laugh sounded again, and the ground beneath their feet grew soft and they started to sink.
“Crap!” swore BSA as she tried to shapeshift out of the sinking ground.
“Crap in a hat!” swore TA as she tried to leap out of the sinking ground.
“Crap in a freaking bucket!!” Swore DFL as she tried to command the sinking ground.
And off in the park:
“Oh Dookie.” Sighed WW as she pounded at the sinking ground with her cow leg.

However it was to no avail, and soon the ground had swallowed all four heroines and then all was blackness.

Is this the end for our intrepid band of heroes? Of course not… when are heroes awake they find themselves:

A: On a train
B. In a desert
C: In a house of many doors
D: By a lake

TA vs. SB

The elusive TA.
Who is this mysterious masked woman who woos weary souls with her magnificent yet elegant prose? And why has she never been photographed with the beautiful yet charming legal secretary corbeau?

TA looked at the oncoming horde of punks, hefted her bo staff and said ruefully, “you know, ninjas were never meant for crowd control. We’re more of a one-on-one, spy, steal and assassinate type warrior, so I’ll leave this to your more applicable talents”
DFL rounded on TA with a furious gaze, “Don’t you dare!!” she began angrily but the diminutive ninja had already gone, fading into the dappled shadows of the park with nary a sound to betray her.
The quickest way to stop the roving punk-horde would be to take out its leader, TA reasoned as she stealthy made her way through the park to SB. After all, if you cut the head off a chicken, did it not run around wildly spurting arterial blood and shrieking its death clucks? TA felt that this metaphor didn’t quite fit the situation, but she had no time to work on it as she was now perched in the leafy tree branches directly above SB. For his part, SB was bouncing lightly on his toes in time to the music, with his fist pumping the air above his head as he chanted his punk battle cry of “Oi! Oi!! Oi!!” or possibly “Oy! Oy!! Oy!!!”
TA dropped out of the tree and onto SB’s oversized melon. She grabbed his arm and twisting in midair used her momentum to flip him over her head and into the ground. TA recovered smoothly from the throw, gliding into a defensive stance as SB popped up from the ground and brushed himself off. “Please” he smirked “I’m a skater, I take harder falls than that for fun.” TA narrowed her eyes, it was time to take the cocky punk down.
Time seemed to slow as SB drew back his arm, his entire body telegraphing his intended punch. TA sidestepped in close, blocking the punch with her left arm while driving her right elbow deep into his solar plexus. As SB doubled over she shifted her stance, grabbed his ears and slammed his head on her knee.
“That was easy” TA thought as she stood over SB’s crumpled and broken form. She began rifling through his clothes, looking for clues and other pertinent items of interest. “Jinkies!” TA yelped as she pocketed the weather machine control. Suddenly the park was overrun by screaming punks, running madly through the trees as they fled for their lives. Behind them stormed a bruised and bloodied WW, screaming her battle cry. In her hands as she hefted what looked like the hind leg of a cow which she used to batter anything in her way.
“Well” TA said conversationally to SB’s unconscious form, “It looks like WW is finally having some fun. I suppose that means I’ll have to carry you.” She finished with a sigh as she hefted SB into a fireman’s carry and went looking for the rest of her team.

All right, only two more to go:

A: WW
B: DFL

Helpful Acronym List

Acronyms:

TA: The Author
BSA: Blood Sucking Accountant
DFL: Dictator for Life
WW: Wonder Woman
SB: Skater Boy
DOAC Park: Dude on a Column park