Continued silly; 'Elfull eating

[chrispenycate]

My first attempt at tongue-in -cheek urban fantasy. I wrote the little throwaway, and was bullied into producing more (I'm easy to bully) But this is much later in the story, and a pleasurable (I hope) interval. "But why" I hear you ask "does it go tell towards the end?" That's because there are supposed to be more characters, and that's where you come in (not that you can't critique it as it stands, of course) I've asked Leisha, the Ace and Pyan if they wanted to participate, and they have gracefully accepted, but there's room for several more. Warning; in magic, there is no dissolution of the ties of contact, and this guy's going to turn into a terrorist, and loose a menace on the world, so you could find him on your doorstep later in the tale.

Unfortunately, it's a bit difficutl for antipodeans or those from the Americas to make their way to the Brecon beacons to participate; this is for UK residents and perchance a few of the closer european neighbours. Adasunshine should have no problems getting there with the boys; Ben might find it more challenging. Not that the threat will be that restrictive, so he might travel later, but it's a long trip for the cat, who should have been there.

You can supply your own dialogue, if you so desire; I'm aware the pedant doesn't truly match with most people's language use.

Oh, yes, the excerpt:

[chrispenycate]

"Hey, Jube!" I span round to see a huge, bulking figure, looking as big as the troll among the assorted magic races. My mind flashed back to a con, somewhere in the north of England, and a well-lubricated evening.

"Py! How ya been? And what are you doing here?"

"We saw your message, and wanted to tell you you're not alone. Locking you up for no reason, no trial, no charge, not even the anti-terrorist act for justification. The orange one will be along right away, she just stopped off for pizza - lots of pizza."

Indeed, a bright orange fiesta was bumping its way along the un-made-up access road. This time, I had no choice but to hug the pixie-sized shape that leapt out to contrast with her massive companion.

"But what are you doing here? Can't you see this is the littlest, flimsiest, forlornest of all forlorn hopes? I wouldn't risk being with me if I weren't me""
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The noise was far too loud, too penetrating to come from anything so slight. Chainsaw in hand, it could almost have been taken for an elf, if it hadn't been for the amount of iron slung around it and the strange, bulbous head.
We watched the chainsaw do a cut the length of a recuperated tree, throwing sawdust and wood-chips off in a continuous spray, before making 'We are here' gestures; one doesn't like to break the concentration of an artist, particularly one whose tools are so potentially lethal. Steel apron, greaves, boots, gauntlets, and doubtless concealed plate prepared for tourney. where the chainèd beast now growling down to silence would doubtless have been an adequate arm.

Saw put down, the hard hat comes off revealing sweaty blond hair, and into it were placed gauntlets, goggles, ear-muffs and breathing mask. Leisha emerged from the cocoon. I didn't dare hug this epitome of the blacksmith's art, but glowed gently nonetheless.

"Who let you loose with that thing? And who brought you down here, anyway? "

"SA and Weave collected me on the way down" (Two more! If the flying squad landed now, they'd decimate British fantasy) "And this was more interesting than playing with your computer. There are plenty doing that already. I'm making you roof beams that you sorely need, and the concentration of little people here is so great, bringing so much good luck that even I can't hurt myself."

As she re-enveloped herself in protection a collection of small, furry things collected the off-cuts and branch stubs, carrying them to the fire-pit that would later be the basis of the barbecue.

"You'll be aching all over before the food's ready – that's no lightweight job, even if the saw's doing the hard work"

"I already am, but when am I ever going to get another chance to do this?" A yank on the starter chord and further conversation became futile.

Chased off by the noise and flying particles we made our way to the only structure with a watertight roof. There her 'plenty' was proved correct. Anywhere else a Roman soldier in full uniform poking around the exposed guts of a computer would be remarked on; here it was par for the course. A full length infantry shield leant against the wall, and a helmet (no plumes) held pride of place on the table. Despite it containing the screws that would normally have held the computer together, it seemed a practical device, not decorative, and the gladius at his side continued the trend. Perhaps it wouldn't be that good a day for the flying squat to descend on us. The animated dancing dandelion attempting to assist and being regularly pushed out of the way by fascinated elves, brownies and a gremlin was more disturbing, but apparently harmless.

"This must be the first ever fibre-optic link spun in spider silk. Still, we've got ninety eight percent transmission, which Is better than BT can manage most of the time" The accent didn't match the supposed Latin origins.

I noticed that, while the place was well populated, very few of them were human.

"I'm sure I've seen more people than this turning up. What are they all doing, bricklaying?" The barbecue had been planned, almost without my involvement, to celebrate my return, no matter how temporary, to freedom. I considered it likely that everybody who turned up was making a target of him or herself; after all, there had never been a reason given out for my disappearance, neither legal or medical, and certain highly-placed officials might not approve of the facts reaching too many people – which would involve eliminating the maximum possible of mouths that might contain the word.

"Somebody noticed that Hay on Wye is only half an hour or so from here, so a couple of car loads – and I mean loads – drove off to case the joint. I suspect they're going to hit the place like barbarians sacking Rome"
Oh, great, more books. Perhaps we could build the house out of those.
People were arriving from all over, and under,Human people, to be sure, those who had once been friends, , those I'd never known were friends, and friends of friends of friends, who someone had thought I might get along with. but non-humans, too; the giant spider who had spun the optical web back to the telephone exchange, now surrounded by little people and being fed something that looked suspiciously vegetarian; figures from nightmares swathed in concealing cloaks and bearing gifts of things to be cooked and bottles to be (cautiously) sampled and small humanoids in a wide range of colours and hairinesses.
The troll came out with sundown; yes, the same troll that had been with me in suburbia. How they'd managed to get her across country to here was somebody else's mystery.

The salamander enjoying the firepit was an old friend too, even if he had burnt down my old home after I had been carted away.

Enthusiastic hands of many races scooped out incandescent charcoal, to be loaded into a couple of halved oil-drums over which horizontal cooking would take place, while carcasses hung sizzling from sticks around the pit itself, to have baste poured on or correctly cooked (for the recipient) chunks hacked off as required. There were also a couple of raclette cheeses bubbling away cheerfully, and a soup cauldron any witch, indeed any coven, would have been proud of was suspended by chains from a sort of gibbet.

Liquid refreshment was not lacking either, in bottles, cans, boxes and two great barrels of ale.

I can say how marvellous it all was, as I hadn't needed to do anything more strenuous than shaking hands, giving kisses and hugs, and attempting to remember where I'd met everybody before.

It seemed that Leisha could no longer move her arms. She was seated in a pile of cushions with something cat-sized and hairy feeding her titbits, while something with altogether too many arms and hands massaged her shoulders. I wondered, privately, how she had managed to wash herself – had she done so before paralysis set in, or had it been the little people helping her bathe, too? No matter; her face held a look of pride and accomplishment that said mere transient physical aches were a minor inconvenience.

The dandelion had been serving soup or vegetables with a choice of two ladles, perforated or not. Now he drew out a trumpet and played a few experimental notes.
As if this were a recognised bugle call, other instruments started appearing. Mainly acoustic, but a few electronic keyboards and guitar amps; the little Honda generator throbbing away in the back could handle that, as long as we didn't use any electric lights; it was mainly there to run the freezer, anyway.
Not that everybody stopped eating and drinking in order to sing, or listen to music, no, and there were still more arriving.
A deep rumble of heavy motorbikes announced Kissmequick, with a guitar riding upright on her pillion, and someone rode in on a horse; that must have been from somewhere close by.
Though hamburgers had stopped appearing (possibly due to exhaustion of the stock of buns) There was still plenty of meat, vegetables could be roasted, cooked in embers or extracted boiled from the cauldron, fish and small birds (of which I didn't ask the provenance, fearing I'd quail at the answer) were prepared for the grill while salads and fruits were cooled.

The general migratory pattern from physical nourishment, through auditory to spiritual encouraged the mingling of races and groups, and nowhere could I hear one argument, one fight, one voice raised in dissension – a garden of Eden which demonstrated that, at least temporarily, co-operation could be total.

Co-ordination, no. Different musical ensembles and soloists were playing different numbers in different styles with total disregard for whatever else was going on. A temporary lull was organised for the maiden performance of "Smoke over Bognor" (to a possibly recognisable tune), about the police raid on my earlier residence, specially composed for this occasion, but when this broke down in laughter musical entropy again reigned.

And it wasn't only humans who were singing; the piping bird-like voices of the elves contrasted with the harsh croaking of the goblins, the boom of trollsong with the – siren songs of the sirens. When the nearly full moon rose the combine canine chorus of those dogs who'd been peacefully (and successfully) begging scraps and a supposed werewolf almost seemed to harmonise with the whole.

The division into groups was only for practical reasons of scale, and, when the freezer was broached and emptied of its ice-cream contents, there was no particular group, race or character in the forefront.

Children were falling asleep and being stashed in the back seats of vehicles, or blanket-wrapped into tranquil corners, watched over by domestic spirits who hadn't had this job in centuries. Music was calmer but no less intense, fragmentation continued with stories and jokes, told to smaller concentrations. A few couples wandered off into the darkness for their own purposes, though what these might be in the case of certain mixed-race pairs was difficult to divine -- perhaps just private conversation.
The paper plates, cups an napkins ended up in the fire, rather than littering the landscape, and the flickering flames reawoke a primeval sense of community, though here it was the bogiemen, furred or feathered, in scales or sometimes slimy skin, who snuggled with us round the protective glow, while the unseen enemy was our own elected leaders, determined to protect us from all harm, even if this safety required castration, drugging to insensibility or locking up.

Among that living mass there would be police informers, mostly human; it was impossible to bring that many people together in total secrecy. And the law of contagion said we'd never again be totally separated, that everything I did would leave its mark on these, their records soiled with references to me, the renegade, who was going to attempt to bring down modern civilisation and invite the insecurity inside.

[Nesacat]

Orange fiesta indeed .... it's wonderfully splendiferous. Thank you. But does he have his tentacles and are they green?

[pyan]

Splendiferous indeed....shabash!

[HoopyFrood]

I already mentioned in the Tea Room (don't know if you noticed) that this bit inspired a dream this morning

And woop, is that me bobbing along there in the first section (I don't know of many others referred to as the orange one )

It's great. More, Chrispy, more!

[Leisha]

Chrispy, this is brilliant! And you lengthened it!

I love the chainsaw me. I would be a fearsome thing to behold, should someone be silly enough to lend me a chainsaw! But other than you, no one seems willing to let me loose near one…

I wonder why.


Oh, but you've still missed off my evil cackle as I wield the saw.

Anyway, more! More!

[Nesacat]

*Leaves chain-saw tied up in huge bow in tea room*

[The Bloated One]

Okay guys,

I think we're missing the point. It appears we should be adding to this wicked tome....

May I suggest we take our characters (Mine personally needs a little defining, 'The Bloated One' conjures up all sorts of ugliness) and drop them into Chris's landscape?

I think Leisha should lead with a couple of paragraphs and we can all tuck in behind...

TBO

[Leisha]

I wish I could, Bloated, but I really, really have too many things that are requiring my attention right now. Speaking of which, I should not even be here at the moment...

If I did this as well, I'd be waaaay behind in my other things. Heh - although I could use that as an excuse to miss my hospital appointment, though. "Sorry I didn't show up, doctor, I had an urgent story to write..."



*toddles of to the TR to find chainsaw*