Disclaimer: I don't own Redwall, mainly because every time I visit, I squish someone

Disclaimer: I don't own Redwall, mainly because every time I visit, I squish someone.

A/N: I love the Redwall books; don't get me wrong. But after the twentieth volume depicting the same plot as the first one, you'd think at least one Abbey dweller would crack.

The Anti of Redwall

Peter the mouse was lying on his bed, reading a complex book of mathematics he had found, when four chubby dibbuns charged in.

"We warna play, Gubby," said one named Purkle, tugging on his sleeve. His mates, Flobsy, Wubble and Stibby nodded enthusiastically.

Peter slammed his book shut and gave the dibbuns a murderous glare. "Don't…call…me GUBBY! I've told you again and again, my name is Peter now. Who in their right mind names their child something like Gubby, I ask you? Have you ever noticed that all the dibbuns are given fluffy, cutesy names and most of the current adults have mature ones? Well, have you?"

The dibbuns tittered.

"CALL ME PETER!"

They gaped blankly at the fuming mouse. Finally, Flobsy piped up. "But Gubby's yo' name, Gubby."

"Gaaaaaaargh!" Peter threw his book. "Why can't you understand? I don't want that to be my name. When I grow up, I don't want to be called Gubby. Sure, it's cute for a baby, but not for later on. Look at you guys; your names are Flobsy and shit for god's sake! What does that even mean—Flobsy? When you grow up, don't you want to be known as something other than Brother Flobsy?"

"We jus' warna play at the moment, Gu…Peter," Stibby said.

"I'm never going to get it through your cotton heads, am I?" Peter snapped. "Oh, and stop baby talking! It's frickin' annoying."

"Muva Whiresot says it's cute," said Purkle.

"Exactly my point," Peter said. "Cuteness is way overrated in this place."

The dibbuns glanced sidelong at each other, trying to comprehend what Peter was saying. Had he just insulted their revered adorability? Wubble the mole tried to defend them. "Well oi think Peter is a stoopid…er…firckin' name moiself. An' oi'm gonner tell Whiresot wot you'm been sayin', so thurr." He made as if to dart from the room.

Peter shuddered and put his paws up in submission. "No…wait! Don't tell her please. I'll play with you, just don't tell Mother Whiresot. I don't feel like dealing with…her at the moment."

The foursome cheered and immediately forgot the threat.

"So, what are we going to play then?" Peter asked. "Chess? Baseball?"

"Na ah," Flobsy giggled. "We'm gonner play h'escape from the Abbey and get losted in the woodlands!"

Peter's face fell. "Again? Isn't that what you always play?"

The dibbuns nodded.

"And let me guess. You'll successfully get yourselves out into the middle of nowhere, regret going out due to a lack of supplies (either by not bringing enough, or eating it all), then get captured by a vermin gang/horde who you then lead back to the abbey so that the abbot has to pay a ransom for you. Am I correct?"

Wubble chortled. "Hopefully, marster Peter. Otherwoise we'm don't have a plot. Ahurr hurr!"

"Just as I suspected," Peter grumbled. "Well, let's get it over with then. It's not as if I'm putting you in danger. Everyone knows the squirrels or otters or hares will rescue you eventually."

The five companions traipsed down the stairs and exited the abbey through the main doors. Various Redwallers looked up from their duties and waved to them, each with a cheerful smile on their faces. Peter did not wave back and instead fought back the impulse to gag.

"We'll go through the south gate," he said. "Nobody will see us leave there."

But before they could reach the little door in the wall, they were confronted by old Abbot Togarmah the squirrel. During his lifetime he had eaten his way through some 5,700 feasts and was tremendously fat. Such a gentle soul was he that the only thing he didn't eat was fish. Peter knew from the dusty books he read that this lack of omega fats contributed greatly to Togarmah's increasingly belaboured heart condition.

"Good afternoon, my children," the abbot said warmly. "What are you up to today?"

"Erm, we'm…um…we'm gonner play faceball, H'abbot," Flobsy chirped.

Peter shook his head in resignation.

"Well that does sound wonderful indeed, my children!" exclaimed Togarmah. He caught sight of Peter, who was desperately trying to remain unnoticed. "Gubby, my son! Is the weather not simply gorgeous?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then why does your face appear so unhappy and joyless, my son?"

Peter couldn't contain himself. "Now that you mention it, sir, I am a bit unhappy with the weather. Have you ever noticed how it barely rains during summer time—only occasionally, and then only when we're burying someone or fighting someone? There is barely any rain and yet we never have any forest fires. And don't even get me started on our crops. They really should not be growing as well as they do with this lack of water. I mean—water from the pond is hardly sufficient to maintain crops that feed an entire abbey. Have you ever thought that Brother Gonk may be putting steroids in our food sup—?"

"A beautiful day indeed, my children, is it not? And yes, the gardens are doing splendid." Togarmah was saying to the dibbuns. "Have a candied chestnut, each of you." He pulled a pawful from his pocket and popped a nut into each of their mouths, including Peter's, who promptly spat it out.

"No thanks. I told you I was on a diet," growled the disgruntled young mouse.

"A what now, my son?" beamed the abbot.

"Never mind."

"Well, I really should get back to the abbey," Togarmah said. "My five thousandth, seven-hundred-and-twenty-sixth feast is tomorrow night, and all the preparations must be made. Also, I need to sit down before these sore ankles of mine give way."

"Hey sir!" Peter snagged the subject swiftly. "I know what could help you. A simple diet of veggies and fish would work wonders on your footpaws. Also, I jog three times around the parapet and perform stretching maneuvers to keep fit. You could come with me and then—"

The abbot chuckled. "Such wild ideas in that head of yours, my young mouse! You'll go far someday, dear child." And off he waddled to the abbey, grunting slightly at the pain in his swollen footpaws.

"Can we go now, while der coast is clea'?" Purkle whispered.

"Yeah, whatever. Come on," Peter said, still glaring with rage at the back of the retreating squirrel.

They made their way to the south gate and Peter, who was tallest of the five, unlocked it and swung it open. The dibbuns clambered out into the woodlands, tittering and squeaking in a most adorable manner. Peter hesitated at the threshold.

"Coom now, Peter," Wubbles crowed. "We'm gonner get gud and losted this toime!"

Peter gazed out into the emerald forest, which really should have been burning. He was tempted to escape this hellhole, but something held him back.

"Nah, I don't think I will," he proclaimed. "Some things need done around here and you guys will only get in my way. Great changes are coming to this abbey. Good luck!"

And with that he slammed the door on the four dibbuns and locked it fast.

A/N: First chapter complete! Stay tuned as Peter struggles to bring radical changes to the Abbey…without much success. Poor fella.