"Heeeello, dearie."
Her hand shooting up, ready to fire off a magic volley, Zelena spun on her heel to confront the voice that had the audacity to purr at her–not to mention the sheer nerve of invading her cellar and interrupting her tease-and-torture playtime with her half-crazed prisoner. But the Wicked Witch blinked when she saw the intruder, for lined up neatly behind the speaker were women, row upon row upon row of women, all ages, all sizes, all colors, and all angry.
"How dare you?" Zelena spat and hissed like a cornered alley cat as she took a quick estimate of the strength of this new enemy: twenty or so rows, standing shoulder to shoulder, a dozen abreast, taking up every spare inch of space in the cellar.
"Oh, we dare." The leader bared her teeth. "We dare plenty."
Behind her, Zelena heard her bloodied and bruised prisoner clamber to his feet. "Dearies?" How he found the energy to shout after a full afternoon of play, Zelena had no idea, but then her former teacher/would-have-been lover always surprised her. "Is that you, my beloved fangirls? Dearies!"
"We're here, Rumple," the leader answered, and her voice filled with sympathy as her eyes flicked to the cage. "And we're getting you out of here."
"Clearly, you have no notion of who I am," Zelena summoned a handful of fire to demonstrate.
"We know," the leader snapped. "We can stick a fork in you: you're done."
"You're nothing but a bunch of powerless humans in cheap, tacky clothes and you're boring me," Zelena yawned and tossed a fireball at the leader, intending to singe the scowl right off her plain face.
The leader caught the fireball and threw it back, catching Zelena's gown on fire. The witch hastily patted out the flames.
"Listen up, Greenie." The leader marched right up to Zelena, and though she had to crane her neck back to do so, she stared, unflinching, into the witch's eyes. "Our Rumple's been kicked, beaten, humiliated, cheated upon, cheated against, abandoned repeatedly, lied to, imprisoned three times, fed maggoty gruel, rejected by his son, stabbed with a hook and poisoned with Dreamshade, and now this crap." The leader waved her hand at the cage, littered with Zelena's toys: whips and chains and hot pokers. "His beloved's been kidnapped–twice, once by her own father–imprisoned, tortured, starved, thrown into an insane asylum to rot; she was shot, her memories stolen and replaced with lies; and just when they had found each other again and declared their love for each other and wedding bells were ringing in the distance, Pan screwed it up and our Rumple had to sacrifice himself. And now you, making a boy toy of him. We've had enough."
Hundreds of heads nodded and the leader called over her shoulder, "You tell the witch, Dearies."
As one, the army shouted, "We're mad as hell and we're not going to take it any more!"
"It's ass kicking time, because we've already taken your name." The leader snarled at her enemy. "This is what you're going to do, if you want to continue to exist in this world. You're going to drop that dagger at your master's feet. Then you're gonna unlock that cage, then you're going to get down on your knees and beg our Rumple to forgive you. If he does, you're going to crawl on your knees back to Oz. If he doesn't," the leader smirked, "you're going to taste our magic."
"You have no magic," Zelena smirked back. "You're all bark and no bite."
"Au contraire, cherie." The leader raised her hand high and an electrical cord appeared in it. "We've got all the power right here. It's called 'ratings.' We're gonna pull the plug on this TV show." She snapped the cord between her hands.
Zelena gulped and the forbidden word escaped her lips. "Cancellation." The curse to end all curses.
"My Dearies," Rumple crooned. "So clever. So ruthless. So proud of you."
Zelena balked, thinking fast for a way to salvage the situation, but the leader snapped the cord again. With a frustrated head toss, Zelena made the cage vanish, healed her prisoner's injuries, then lowered herself gracefully to the cold concrete and slid the dagger toward his feet. "Master," she mumbled.
"What's that, girlie?" Rumple cocked his head. "Speak up, my Dearies in the back row can't hear you."
"Master," Zelena raised her voice. "I most sincerely apologize for all my transgressions and I beg you, most humbly, to forgive me."
Rubbing his chin, Rumple walked around her. "Hmm. I don't know. . . ."
Zelena pressed her forehead to his boot. "Please, Master."
"Very nice," Rumple decided. "You may crawl back to Oz now. It's thataway." He pointed north.
Her face red beneath the green, Zelena raised herself to her hands and knees and crawled up the cellar steps. The fangirls stood aside for her. At the top of the stairs, the witch looked back. She just had to know the name of the most powerful beings in all the realms. "Please. . . Who are you?"
It was the leader's turn to toss her head in disdain. "We're the Rumbelle Nation, baby, and you've just been rumpled."
Zelena lowered her head in defeat and crawled away.
The master wizard bowed elegantly to his rescuers, and they curtseyed deeply to him. "What now, Dearies?" Rumple straightened the remains of his Armani jacket.
"To the Pink House," the leader announced. "Belle and Bae await."
"Very good," he offered the crook of his arm to the leader, and as she linked her arm in his, he surveyed his fangirls. "Is one of you perhaps licensed to perform weddings in Maine?"
A gray-haired lady stepped forward. "I am, Rumple."
"Well then!" He offered her his free arm. As she accepted his arm, he addressed his fangirl army. "Rumbelle on, Dearies!"
They raised their fists and cheered. "Rumbelle on, Rumple!"