Title: Two Sides to Every Story

Rating: PG-13 for the occasional swearword further into the story…

Disclaimer: Most characters within this story are copyright to me, though some familiar characters belong to Brian Jaques. The idea for this was from Laburum Steelfang and Cookie Pixie. Anyway…

Summary: Inspired by Laburnum Steelfang, a poke at the Mary Sues of the Redwall universe…

Comments: This is just a little joke I thought up after reading A Guide To Redwall Mary Sues. Any Mary Sue-ness is completely intentional. Uh, I hope. If you fail to recognize the humor in this, well, one of us needs help. No, don't answer that.

- - -

Chapter One: Introductions Made and no Plot Covered

Ravensnow Silkpaw was a beautiful squirrel, with intense, flaming green eyes and fire-red fur that glistened in the sun. She was a roving Warrior with skills like no other, an adept with the sword and a knack for bows and spears. Not only that, but she had a sense of impartial-ness that made her perfect for solving unfair disputes and senseless conflicts. Thankfully, or anything with sense would have killed her –

Ravensnow's pretty head snapped up, her pretty face twisted into a frown. "Hey, that wasn't in the script," she said. "You're just trying to make me look bad."

Yes, yes I am…

Ravensnow sighed. "Whatever," Then she abruptly – and prettily - said, "Come on, we're behind on the script by a few seconds already! Come on," she whined. Prettily.

So Ravensnow Silkpaw was on her way to Redwall -

"No, you just skipped way to much here. You didn't announce my goal to reach Redwall and my heritage! You can't skip my heritage…"

Ravensnow Silkpaw had a mission. A mission to go to Redwall Abbey and claim the all-powerful Sword of Martin and to gain the help of the warrior beasts living there to help her track down Celimn the Fox, the cruel beast who had thoughtlessly slaughtered her brave mother with her own dirk and drowned her handsome father in the sea, tied to a sinking ship's mast. Raven alone had skillfully and effortlessly escaped the cruel caves of Celimn, tears running down her silky, pretty cheeks, driven alone by the need of a mirror and brush to get rid of those nasty tangles –

"Oh, was NOT! Stop messing around with the plot, or whatever's left of it!"

You're only a pawn, what do you know of the plot?

"I'm only a WHAT?!?!? You ungrateful wretch, I fed and clothed you! I –"

Uh, wrong script there, Raven.

"Huh? Oh, my apologies. Ahem…" Ravensnow cleared her throat. "I'm only a WHAT?!?!?!?! You sick retarded, twisted -" She gasped. "Oh, no, no, no, I couldn't swear! My mother told me not to swear, that's rude!"

I take it she told you not to talk to strangers, too.

"Yes, that she did…"

- - -

Meanwhile, at the famous Abbey of Redwall, things were a jumble of joy and chaos rolled in one in a supreme discount taco. It was Abbot Leffin's Jubilee feast, and those not running around trying to get things ready were sticking their impatient paws where they shouldn't be - inside pots of honey, scraping off the icing from cakes, and plucking candied chestnuts from decoration platters. Every beast were enjoying themselves, except for –

"This is so cliché," muttered Gabrielle the otter maid. She, along with her friend Torsem were not enjoying themselves the least. Both dedicated reading beasts, they had read the entire Redwall collection and were disgusted with the current events of the Abbey.

"I know," said Torsem. The mouse and his friend were sitting up a peach tree in the orchard –

"There are no peach trees in the orchard, genius." Gabrielle said, glaring at the non-existent author. "We should know."

"But them again, it's a nice change," Interjected Torsem. "I'm sick of apple trees."

"Do peaches even grow on trees?"

Umm…

"Whatever, just get on with the story."

Nevertheless, both friends were sitting in a peach tree, hind paws swinging in the air, unwilling to help the makings of the feast below.

Gabrielle ranted out her anger to her understanding friend. "And can you blame us? Most of the Redwall stories take place in a setting just like this! Can't think of any right now, but on my affidavit there is. Bet you my last chestnut that once the feast is almost over, Boom, there goes the lights, and then everybeast goes silent –"

" – And then lightning strikes, the doors open and there, in the middle of it all, the silhouette of a fair creature with a heart of gold and skillful paws stands, and then, next thing you know, they've dragged all the able-bodied beasts out to fight some war for them. Bla bla bla, we're sick of it!" Torsem angrily flung down his peach's core down.

"Ow!"

Gabrielle rolled her eyes. "I dare anybeast to tell me that they've never seen this kind of scene before."

"What in Mossflower are you talking about?" Said the beast that had yelped earlier. Sister Sara emerged from the foliage surrounding the beasts, and walked underneath the branches within Gabrielle and Torsem's sight.

"Even the names are unoriginal! Whoever wrote this needs to lay off the weed," Torsem grumbled.

Gabrielle sniffed. "At least you have an original name."

"Well, no beast ever bore that name in the Redwall books. You have to feel sorry for Martha from Loamhedge though."

"What are you two talking about?" Steamed Sister Sara. "You two keep ranting off about 'cliché', and what does that mean anyway?"

Torsem gasped in mock pity. "My poor, poor sister, how did you manage to get this far without

knowing the term 'cliché'? It means 'so commonly used that it has lost it's meaning', or 'over-used'. Like Jubilee feasts. To us, that's cliché, they've happened so many times that all it is to us now a chance to get fatter." Gabrielle giggled.

Sara tried to keep her temper. She failed. "I won't have any of this! The insolence of young 'uns today! I hope you realize that this is an occasion for rejoicing and happiness among everybeast, and that you are but tainting that very happiness with your snappy attitudes and darned extended vocabularies! To the infirmary right now, I want to see that place shining like my own beautiful muzzle when the feast begins!"

As she left, Sister Sara heard a fragment of a sentence, which sounded remarkably similar to "That's so cliché…."

- - -

Alright, so it wasn't funny. But I've laid the basics for the plot, so the next chapter should be out soon; Chapter Two: Cliché-ness Overload and Bets Won.