You know, since I first heard of the concept of the "song-fic" I've wanted to try my hand at one. Please be gentle with me. In keeping with tradition, I've chosen a song that will inspire the reader with the appropriate amount of Angst and Tortured Emotion.

I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts —

"Look!" snapped Eric, "I don't care what that little creep said! This Countess Cue-balla — "

"That's Querella, Eric…"

" — Whatever — she hates Venger's guts, and would send us home just to spite him. If Dungeon Master can't get us out of here, I say we ask somebody with some real magic!"

"I say we should ask someone with some real brains — but I guess that leaves you out, Eric."

"Ha-ha. Well, you can stay in this crazy world if you want to, Little Miss Acrobat — but I'm sure the rest of us wanna get home sometime. C'mon, Sheila, Bobby!" he said, with that little tremolo in his voice that was sometimes so effective, "Don't you wanna see your mom and dad again? To sleep in a bed, and eat hot dogs and pizza again? To be back to normal?"

"Ohhh…oh, Bobby...!" Sheila clung to her little brother, as her eyes filled. Uni nuzzled her hand, mewling softly.

"Errr-IC!"

"Just ignore the Stick-lady," continued the Cavalier, loftily. "C'mon Presto, what do YOU say?"

"Uhh, gee, I dunno, Eric… I mean, we're all awfully tired of this place, and I miss home as much as any one — but if this Countess Querella IS a sorceress, maybe Dungeon Master is right, and she IS too dangerous."

"Presto, he admitted that she's nine years old. How tough can she be?" He grimaced in the offensive manner of one to whom all human motives are an open book. "The old boy probably just doesn't want some young up-and-coming sorceress to take over his business!"

"Well, I … I don't know. Hank? What do you say?"

Five pairs of anxious eyes turned toward him, hanging on his decision. Yet Hank remained silent. What if he made the decision — and it was the wrong one? Hank was inclined to be cautious — they were all just kids, really, and he had to be the grown-up — but he was really just a kid himself. What if this really was their chance of getting home — and he made them miss it? What if Dungeon Master had just tricked him, had been toying with them all along? What if…?

"Oh, Hank," whispered Sheila, "I want to go home."

"Okay," he said, slowly. "We'll put it to a vote. If we tie, or if the vote is 'no,' we wait for Dungeon Master to find a way home for us. If the vote is 'yes,' we ask the Countess. Diana?"

"I vote 'no.' Dungeon Master must have had a good reason for warning us against her."

"Eric?"

"'Yes' — of course. If he knows so much, how come he hasn't come up with a way to send us home?"

"Sheila?"

"Oh, Hank — it's a chance, isn't it? And how many chances are we going to get? I vote 'Yes.'"

"Presto?

"Well, I, uh … I dunno, Hank…"

"Ah, c'mon, Presto!"

"Gee, Eric…" The magician hung miserably between the two elder boys, and then, with a plunge: "I'm sorry, Eric. I don't think we should risk it. I vote 'no.' "

"Wimp," spat Eric, bitterly.

"Bobby?"

"Aw, Hank, I'm too young to vote!"

"Not in this democracy, pal," smiled the ranger. "Everyone gets a voice here."

"Myeeaahh," said Uni.

"Well … then — if Sheila says we ought to go, we'll go. I vote 'yes.' "

"That makes it your decision, Hank," spoke Eric slowly — with, perhaps, a certain satisfaction. "Do we stay, or do we go?"

Hank was silent, one minute — three minutes — five. Then: "We go. I vote, 'Yes.' "

"Hurray!" whooped Eric, and actually scooped Bobby up and swung him around in the air, while Sheila hugged a confused Presto. Hank bowed his head and turned away.

A slim arm wrapped itself around his shoulders. He looked up.

"I'm sorry, Diana. I know that — "

"Hey — don't even say it. I know how hard that was for you, and no matter what happens, I support your decision, Hank. 'Kay?"

He nodded, once or twice, gulping. "Thanks."