Fun in the Wasteland Sun

Here come a few short stories that will take place a while before EM2. The direct timeline will be five months, before Cecelia and Prescott's fight. They are cannon in a way, but are mostly for fun.

xxx

(A Hair Raising Disaster)

"Um...Prescott, not that I doubt you..." A teenage Cecelia nervously trailed, breaking out in chills from the suction cups glued to her temples. Her welts from the Terror Box incident are as fresh as the day The Mad Doctor and Blot turned her into a Guinea Pig. Besides, that glue was ice cold. "But is all this necessary?" She prayed that beeping box wasn't going to read her mind. Or her nightmares. "It's only hair." She dismissed with a shrug.

"Precisely the words that bring those of a strict vanity like Clarabelle, Daisy, and Clara Cluck from their obscurity to ramble on idiotically!" Prescott tenderly ran fingers through her recently cut above the ear hair. The white locks stayed just out of the glue, so this shouldn't be a painful removal. "I swear to you, I can never leave the Gag Factory without those badgering hens yammering on about their looks!" He twisted around her, The frown lines and crow's feet were showing from his irritation. "Do you know how annoying it is listening to grown women fret over what time will inevitably make permanent?"

"I can imagine." Cecelia giggled in a low tone. She fixed up her black thigh high stockings and ankle high brown boots. The crate she was sitting on kept tugging at them. "Women are vain in their own right. Some about their hair, others about their weight, and then those who simply have self image issues." The last one she tossed to the wind. She doesn't have these problems. What with being ridiculed for being a halfbreed, her lack of self esteem isn't so superficial. "Losing hair is scary to some women." To which she dusted fallen strands from the sleeve of her green V-Neck. The long white attached sleeves were covered in...Goofy's hair? It's dog hair and she hugged him earlier.

"Well hopefully when I'm finished here…" Prescott dove into a trunk, throwing a kitchen sink, a plunger, and...a mini fridge to a corner, "We can...PUT...an end to that nonsense once and for all!" He strained pulling out a large tool box, slamming it onto a table. Amazing that it didn't break. Prescott pushed the button and a science kit blossomed. Two stretching side panels with three platforms of chemicals. In the middle were sharp tool, beakers, and string. Cecelia feared for her life. She naed 20 spells that will get her out of this, all ending in a bang.

When Cecelia agreed to come back to Wasteland for a visit, her ideas for her visits didn't stem to research for Prescott's hair growth formula. Or being his - as he so eloquently put - lovely assistant. Probably why she caved so easily. Prescott bats his eyes with such a childish gleam and then coos at her. She can't say no. Not that she would. Prescott's at his happiest when he can play scientist. He's very good at chemistry. Though scary at times. He has a diabolical cackle to go along with it.

"Now then...what is that formula?" He muttered to himself, scrambling through his notes. "Acid? No. Mercury? Not even. Radioactive moon rock…? Possibly." Cecelia, soaking in nervous sweat, chose spell number 15. She'll melt into a puddle, Prescott will investigate it, and it will grab him and stick him to the floor for six hours. "AH-HA! Here we go!" He jabbed a finger to the formula. Cecelia went to spell number 19. A clone of Cecelia will be left, and once he touches it it'll give him a shock. "Two parts shea butter, one part olive and avocado oil, a pinch of coconut extract, six ounces of caster oil, three egg whites, and a dash of oregano." Was he making a hair formula or breakfast? He poured those ingredients into a glass bowl. "Super heat to 600…" He watched the pasty concoction heat within seconds. He connected an air tight tubing. The heated brew bubbled and was sucked through the thick glass tube, being sent through loops, swirls, and spirals. Before it could pour from the other side into the container, Prescott threw in five balls of ice inside. He egged the concoction on, yelling profanities when it clogged at certain areas. It started dripping into the container, the ice melting on contact and giving the brew a bit of solidity.

Cecelia ogled the brew intrigued. The color was a nice butter with mixed specks of green. A natural...sort of herbal smell with the oil mixtures wafted with the steam. Honestly, it didn't look or smell bad. The question being, as the brew finished emptying into the container, was is it safe. Prescott removed his glove. Cecelia stifled a gasp. He cringed on the side of caution, squeezing his eyes closed tight as he placed his finger inside. Cecelia couldn't watch. But did peek through her fingers. Prescott stirred it around, taking in the cooling, oily, moistening feel. His eye poked open. "W-Well?"

"UREKA!" He was struck by genius. He was relieved there wasn't an explosion. But mostly because it was safe on skin. "Now for the final test. He took what was on his finger and traced it along the centerline of Cecelia's roots. It was colder than she thought. "Feel anything?"

"Just cold." She's still wondering why this requires cups on her head. Prescott made notes, but was overall disappointed nothing was happening yet. "Wait...I feel...prickling?" Prescott's eyes brightened. He readied his pencil. "Ooh! That's burning! Gah! Feels like my scalp is peeling!" She scratched at it. Beep-beep-beep-beep! The device was going haywire. Cecelia's scalp was itching like mad. Prescott backed away. Then the beeping stopped. Cecelia's scalp stopped itching too.

"Well?" Prescott approached. Cecelia shrugged, leaning her head to him. He took a magnifying glass to spot the smallest change. What he saw was a couple of hair strands sprout. Not the result he was hoping for, but it was better than nothing. "Guess I can't complain. At least it works." He sighed dismally, making notes under the improvement section. "Maybe if I add-"

BOOM! "AAAHHH…!" The two screamed. Cecelia's hair exploded from her scalp, growing rapidly and out of control, flooding the Gag Factory floor to ceiling. Horace and Clarabelle on a harmless stroll had the bell scared out of them by the white tufts of hair spilling from the creases and windows of the factory.

Prescott was pinned to a section of wall by a thick wallpaper of hair. "GRR! GOTTA JUST...LITTLE MORE…" Prescott gasped for air, splitting those ends off him. Sweet, blissful freedom. "Well...guess I can say it works." He groaned, rubbing his sore head. "A little too well." He choked on a wad of hair lodged in his throat. He wiggled wildly popping out and belly flopping to a patch of springy hair. He groaned dazedly then took few seconds here and there to admire how soft the hair was. And it smelt amazing. Like a bed of pure white lilies in bed of snow. "Uh-oh! CECELIA! WHERE ARE YOU?!" Ohh she isn't going to be happy.

"Over here!" Came her muffled, if not irritated, reply. She sounded close.

"Where?! GRR!" Hair snagged his feet when he tried to fly. He hated to do this. He took a pair of scissor and cut the tendrils off. She's a rational girl. And there's a lot of hair here. She won't miss it. "Keep talking! I'm coming!"

"Please hurry! It's hot in here!"

A little jungle music for the mood. Prescott cut the vines in his path, crawled under the logs supporting a massive collapse, and swung across of pit of forever matted knots. Ventureland had nothing on this. Cutting through the last patch, Prescott came face first with solid surface. "Ow…" The surface moaned. Prescott gawked dumbfounded. He hummed pensively at the thing he hit. It was shaped like a person. He poked at the forehead, then started patting it down and making out a figure. His fingers poked at some sides. "Hey! That tickles!"

"CECELIA!" Prescott tossed the scissors with glee. He peeled her head to chest like a banana, cringing at her very not amused leer. "Hee-hee...sorry!" He grinned innocently, rubbing the back of his head.

She spat hair in his face, completely lost for which spell would effectively send him to the moon. "At least...we know...it works!" She snarled through gritted teeth.

"Too well, ha-ha." He worked on loosening her from her locks, habitually stroking the long hairs lovingly. "But you know what?"

"What?!" She hissed impatiently. A mad blush spread to her cheeks. Prescott placed his forehead to hers. A warm and adorable smile on his lips, and that debonaire stare sent chills through her, subduing her previous irk. "W-What?!" She pouted.

"Short hair or long," Prescott cupped her cheeks, "You're as beautiful as the day I met you." He nuzzled his nose to hers, deepening her blush.

She can't stay mad at him now. "Aw. You sap…" She gushed. Her heart fluttered. Prescott brought her into a tender kiss. They'll take care of the hair later.

xxx

(Dog Gone and Done It)

Mickey was enjoying his time at home with his faithful dog Pluto. After his last venture to Wasteland, he's been taking time to spend spend a few days with his best pals, Donald and Goofy, and his girlfriend, Minnie. He's been to barbeques, the beach, beat Mortimer Mouse in the faulty property civil case. He felt as if he was having a homecoming jamboree that lasted for a week. He wasn't complaining. The two times he's gone to Wasteland made him really miss and appreciate what he has back home. His friends, his family, his own bed - The Cartoon World's worst problems are high traffic, chapped lips, lack of bandwidth, and expensive gas. No Blots, Blotlings, Mad Doctors to bring them down. Deciding to take a day and just be in bed with his dog by his side brought him to a thoughtful pause to soak it all in. He was going to savor these moments. Because he never knows when Wasteland will call on him again.

Trilling, trilling. "Hrm…!" Pluto's ear shot up and he awoke to a harmonious jingling. He glanced around Mickey's room, searching for the source of the sound. Nothing was there, and the only noise was Mickey's snoring. Pluto curled back up on his rug and went back to sleep. Trilling, trilling. Trilling, trilling, came the strange noise again. Pluto flipped to his paws, growling suspiciously of the noise. He definitely heard it, and demanded whoever it was to come out. If it was Mortimer again he was biting off more than just the back of his pants. Trilling, trilling. Trilling, trilling. The sound was taunting him. Mickey was fast asleep, sawing logs louder than his car's aged engine. Pluto sniffed the air for a stranger in, stalking into the hallway.

The trilling got louder as he came to the door. When he went into the hallway, though, the trilling grew quiet. He could hear it, but it wasn't anywhere in the living room or in the other parts of the house. Pluto itched the top of his head with his ear baffled, wondering what was causing that sound. It's not the phone, the TV, or even the strange weather rooster on the roof. What on earth could it be? He returned irritably to Mickey's room, believing he can simply ignore the sound and go back to sleep. Trilling, trilling. Trilling, trilling. Jolts shot to his back and he whipped around. The sound was coming from the mantle! From the mirror! He moved a foot stool over and climbed up. Aside from his and Mickey's reflection, nothing was out of the ordinary. Pluto was about to climb down when the mirror jiggled like jello, the trilling sound coming from it. He growled threateningly, ensuring not to bark so Mickey wouldn't wake up. He slapped the mirror with his paw. The glass swallowed his paw whole. Pluto yelped terrified, desperately pulling at his paw. He dug in his hind paws, pulling with all his might to get free. The mirror gave one last trill in a mocking snicker. It released Pluto's paw part of the way, letting the dog think he was free. Then it slurped him up whole, taking him thrashing legs in all, and spitting him out at a fireplace in a dimly lit hallway.

Pluto shot up dumbfounded by what just happened. In a panic he darted for the mirror, diving head first. Instead of a jiggly jello he smashed into a hardened liquid display. He collapsed into himself like an accordion, coming undone like a slinky down some stairs. A rather dismal tune came from him. He popped back into his original form, seeing loads of stars. He shook off the daze, whimpering pleadingly and scratching at the mirror to let him back in. He turned frightened to the corridor he was in. None of it smelled familiar. He crept on his toes, nervously heading for the arch ahead. Maybe there was another way out. Pluto sniffed the arch, then slowly poked his head around. In his bafflement he relaxed by the sight of a workshop greeting him. He knows this place. Mickey's told him about it in gory detail. To think he'd wind up there.

"Argh?" On the table. There was a diorama of sorts. Pluto scouted around for the owner of the workshop and his...granddaughter?...he believes Mickey called her. The grandfather, supposedly, is an unnerving man with a stare that can peel metal. The granddaughter is nice though. One of his best pals. Neither seemed to be around. Pluto crept inside, coming up to the diorama with multiple question marks around his head. A three dimensional landscape of a world resembling the amusement park Roy and Walt created. Not a bad likeness. This must be that place Mickey's been going to. Pluto kind of wondered if he could go in...but decided against it. He already doesn't know how he's getting out of here. Forget a world where Toons go to be forgotten.

As Pluto meandered for a flight of stairs, he heard the mirror trill and mock him again. Pluto huffed at it, not falling for it's rouse again. He walked into a piece of cloth. It ghosted over his eyes, blinding him. Pluto wildly shook his head, inadvertently tugging it and a bowl of blue paint. Pluto used his paw and shoved the dusty blue cloth off his face. He blew fabric from his nose, growling at it. He took another step and splash the bowl of paint fell on him, giving soaking into his fur and eyes. Pluto thrashed about rampantly, dragging his face along every surface to get the vile liquid out of his eyes. He knocked books off the shelf, dropped beakers and bottle of highly temperamental chemicals - that miraculously survived. In his tirade he spilled a box of bird seed on himself and it stuck to the paint. Pluto slapped himself silly feeling the seed sink its way into his fur and eyes. He stumbled on his hind legs, barreling over a tub of brooms. He groan drearily. This was turning into a disaster.

Pluto lifted the bucket off him. Bristles tickled his nose. He sneezed and the water in his eyes made it possible to open them. He yelped and hid inside the bucket. His wide eye poked from the crease, the bucket quivering with him. The brooms from the bucket came to life, and were WAVING AT HIM. Brooms don't wave! Do they? These ones do. Then again, Mickey said the granddaughter and grandfather were powerful sorcerers. They must have bewitched the brooms. Pluto raised a curious brow when the brooms marched up a separate flight, picking up pairs of buckets. Pluto followed after them, bewildered by why they were scooping up buckets full of water. Whatever their reason, he needed a bath. He strutted over, happy as a clown. The brooms form a wall and tossed their buckets, dousing him ears to paws. The paint and seed washed off nicely. Pluto shook himself dry, thanking the brooms for the shower. Then they threw water on him again. Pluto choked on the water in his nose. The brooms wet him again, and again, and again. He was drowning in his own fur. A pool was at his feet.

The brooms filled their bucket for another round. "Grrr...BARK-BARK-BARK!" Pluto's ferocious barks stunned the brooms inanimate again, their buckets and selves rolling off a ledge into a pit. Pluto shook off gallons of water and tried to run away. He came smacked into a solid wall. The way was barred by a painting of the menacing brooms bowing at a magical hat. Pluto whimpered like he did at the mirror, pawing at the wall. "BARK-BARK-BARK-BARK!" No matter how loudly he barked, Pluto's only response was to himself. No one was there to save him. He just wanted to go home.

There were grates on the other end of the corridor. That pit was the only thing standing between him and finding a way out. He puffed his chest like a military dog. He can do this. Feeling brave, he knelt on his haunches, shaking his tail. The valiant pooch dared the two prong jump to the opposite side of the odd room, sliding and feeling like a boss on the landing. A powerful breeze was coming from the grate. The bars in place were snug, but Pluto managed to slip inside. He wandered in darkness for a ways. No light except for his eyes and the way he came in. He soon saw a light at the end of the tunnel and raced towards it. He saw the room her entered in and broke into a sprint. The floor suddenly opened beneath him. Pluto howled in fear as a slide carried him into the bowels of who know where.

The slide shot him off a small jump, sending the pooch flipping paws over head onto a winged contraption. Pluto moaned dizzily, begging the ride to be over. He shook the stars at his head away. There was something wrong with this place. The thin support cable keeping him at this flying machine above a three story drop was not helping his queasy stomach. This room full of books, charts of constellations, and stars engraved to the walls was succeeding in amplifying his altitude sickness. As luck would have it, there was a massive telescope below him. Cautiously he went onto the wing. He'd freeze whenever the contraption would start to swing. The loud creaks sent his heart racing. Unbeknownst to the dog, each of his steps was pulling at the prong imbedded in the ceiling, loosening it half a centimeter. Pluto was on the edge of the wing. The telescope just out of reach. The contraption was swinging already. He could use that. He pushed his weight down, giving the swing a little more momentum. Pluto waited for the wing to come full swing and he sprung. The prong was ripped out. Pluto landed to the telescope, then had his skeleton scared out of him by a crashing BOOM! He peered down, cringing at the in shambles machine. He really needs to leave now. Before the owners get back home.

Pluto scrambled to the peak of the telescope, jumping to a long winding path along the wall. That tunnel sent him down so he ran up. Uniform marching brought Pluto to a screeching halt at the tunnel entrance. He squinted hard to peer past the unnatural darkness. A flash of water splashed in his face again. He was losing all humor to this. Good thing, because this was no joke. Pluto staggered back as an army of those brooms filed out, all carrying buckets filled to the brim with...water and grease. Two of the brooms poured the grease over Pluto. It wasn't coming off that easily. Pluto growled murderously, ready to piece them apart. He was turned into a frightened kitten by a looming shadow. The rest of the brooms tossed their water, creating a massive tidal wave. Pluto flipped a sign warning, 'This won't be pleasant.' The water swept him away, taking him on another winding slide into a dark tunnel. He howled scared, begging for the ride to end. The harder he tried to stop, the faster he seemed to go. He closed his eyes, knowing this won't end well.

xxx

Yensid and Cecelia returned to the workshop with their hands filled with groceries and supplies. They nearly dropped those supplies in horror of the mess that welcomed them. Paint everywhere, books and papers scattered, the beakers and jars a mess. It's like a tornado came through here. The two shared flabbergasted stares, neither knowing what happened and who was the one who cleaned. They immediately went to blame Wasteland, but it hasn't been active in months. Then they went to the brooms, only to find their bucket was empty.

"What in Fantasia happened here?" Yensid rumbled. A book case in the workshop slid to the side, revealing a small tunnel. Yensid and Cecelia ogled it curiously, hearing a strange noise coming from it. Pluto scared the groceries out of Cecelia's hand howling into the room. Yensid waved his hand, saving the supplies with a levitation spell. The two cringed at the bowling crash the pup made. Pluto struck a perfect strike in the art supply corner. Easels, brushes, and glitter falling on him. The grease soaking up the bristles and glitter. Pluto moaned defeatedly, not wanting to go on anymore rides. He sniveled at the glaring Yensid, and the strangely gawking Cecelia. He had a bad feeling of who those two were. "Who is this pup and how is he here?" Yensid demanded.

"That's Mickey's dog." Cecelia remarked. "The mirror must have brought him here." It does that from time to time.

"Blast this mirror!" Yensid set the supplies aside, picking up Pluto by the collar. He marched to the mirror, throwing a handful of magic at it. The mirror resisted but ultimately opened the way back to Mickey's world. Yensid leered at the pup, not won over in the least by his puppydog eyes or the lick to his cheek. Cecelia fawned with an aww. She choked it down at his glare. Yensid threw him in the mirror and that was that. "What a mess." He stormed off. "I'll be in the observatory."

"I'll get the brooms!" She called. "And refund on you!" She barked at the mirror. It wriggled teasingly. She should make sure Pluto made it okay.

xxx

Mickey woke up for some much needed breakfast and went to his room to enjoy it. Eggs, waffles, orange juice, and a bowl of berries. He kicked his door open, a smile breaking across his face. "Hey, Pluto! Where've ya been boy?" He gleamed at the dog wrestling with a blanket over him. Pluto pried it off, startling Mickey to putting his breakfast aside. "PLUTO! What happened to ya?!" He ran his hands over him, curious of where all that gunk came from.

"Blame this soon to be trashed home appliance." Cecelia waved dismally from the mirror. "Hey, Mick."

"Cecelia?" He arched a perplexed brow.

Cecelia took a breath to explain. "MY OBSERVATORY!" Yensid's howl from a distance shattered both Mickey and Cecelia. Even the mirror cracked a little. Mickey's were wide with terror. He glanced to Pluto who whimpered, then back to the mirror and Cecelia, putting it all together. Pluto got in trouble.

Cecelia wheezed through gritted teeth, her finger shakily erect to the warning that announced itself. "Yeah, Mick, make sure Pluto doesn't have a return trip." She pleaded before Yensid was given an excuse to make real hot dogs.

"Gotcha!" Mickey and Cecelia threw sheets over the mirrors. Mickey sneered at Pluto. He stopped his owner right there. He's innocent in all this.

xxx

(Get Ready for a Marital RUMBLE)

It was a lovely day in OsTown. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and- "OSWALD, I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU!" And...Ortensia and Oswald were arguing...ugh...again. That ear piercing screech of Ortensia's shook windows. Clarabelle, Clara, and Prescott poked their heads out. All of OsTown, including Jamface and Markus, came out to see what all the commotion was about. They instantly regretted those steps into the square. Streams of lightning surged between the heated glares of the The Lucky Rabbit and his Feline Sweetheart. "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU FORGOT!"

Gus, Horace, Donald, and Daisy emerged from the Mickeyjunk Mountain projector, baffled by why everyone was gathered in the square. "I DIDN'T FORGET ANYTHING!" Oswald stomped that fact into the cement. He won't let her get away with placing all blame on him. Like she always does. "This is your fault!" The late to arrive four shared very confused and scared glances, then looked to the others for answers. The shrugs were unanimous. Everyone heard the screams, but not what caused them. "You're the one who kept changing the dates last second!"

"Only because you keep running off somewhere to go adventuring!" Mickey, and a teenage Cecelia were the last to arrive, and the last to be included in this heated squabble.

"I don't adventure! I'm fixing what the Thinner Disaster and Blot Invasion left behind!"

"FIX IT LATER!"

"I DID CHOOSE LATER!"

"NOT LATE ENOUGH!" They growled rabidly, colliding foreheads. Those sparks were flying in every direction. The clouds were even rolling in. Gus and Goofy wore raincoats in the event of heavy showers. Donald and Daisy firmly believed Ventureland was less volatile. Heck, Bog Easy during Mardi Gra with Madam Leona would be easier to handle.

"Umm…?" Mickey and Cecelia hummed for an answer.

"We don't have a clue." Gus, Jamface, and Prescott harmonized.

"Will someone please explain what's happening?!" Daisy begging, hands clapped together to the skies. Someone up there must know what's happening.

"I don't even know why you're yelling at me when you're the one that started this!" Oswald hollered again, adding to the suspense ready to make people riot.

"ME?!" Ortensia pressed affronted palms to her chest. He's seriously going to play innocent with her. "All of this started because...YOUR FORGOT OUR ANNIVERSARY!" DUN-Donald and Daisy's jaws dropped, DUN-Horace, Clarabelle, and Goofy mirrored the sensor monkeys, DUN-Prescott and Cecelia hugged in fright!The crowd was stricken with terror. And not just because Jamface got a twisted sense of humor and played his musical sting soundtrack. Gus approved all the same, but urged the gremlin to put the radio away. Clara Cluck leapt into Horace's arms, nibbling on her nails frightfully. Clarabelle, needless to say, did not approve of her closeness in the least.

"I didn't forget anything!" Oswald swung an arm. She was being ridiculous as usual. Always jumping to conclusions without the full story. Like with her brother Homer being the schemer behind Oswald's accidents. "I had everything planned out and then you came at me yelling at the top of your lungs for no reason!"

"I had plenty of reasons! The main reason being you haven't paid any attention to me at all!" She stamped her feet in a childish tantrum. While Daisy can sympathize...no! There is no but here! Oswald is at fault. The boyfriend usually is! He should apologize. Donald was nervous when she leered at him. He had no counter argument since he's forgotten anniversaries.

"Thank the Guardians our anniversary isn't for another seven months." Prescott hovered beside Cecelia, leaning to her shoulder.

She clamped to his hand, nuzzling her head to his neck. "Please let's not end up like them." She whimpered.

"Deal." He kissed her forehead.

"You're always disappearing, always off on adventures, and leaving me to be the stereotypical housewife!" The cooking, the cleaning, raising the kids on her own. All the while putting together relief organizations for those who haven't gotten back into the swing of things since their last two disasters. "Do you have any idea how tired I am?"

"Probably not nearly as tired as I am!" Oswald scoffed, directing thumb at him. "I'm the Leader of Wasteland! I'm called all over to boost morale and lend help where it's needed!" And it will keep him from home for days at a time. "The farthest you've been called is across the street!" Ortensia went seething red.

DING! A little hammer hit a little bell. "AND ROUND ONE GOES TO OSWALD FOR THAT CLEVER COMEBACK!" Jamface gave the play by play from a podium near the Oswald and Mickey statue. He had on the hat, suit, and rectangular glasses to fit into the announcer's role. "Ortensia is left speechless in the stab, but has yet to falter! How will she react? Will she hit below the belt? What do you think, Mademoiselle Daisy?" He passed on the mic to his co-host.

"Well, Jamface, in all my years of knowing both Ortensia and Oswald, this promises to be a drawn out and entertaining argument." Ortensia and Oswald stalked in circles around each other like predators, feeding off the dramatic music coming from Gus, Donald, and Goofy. "These two are equally stubborn and know every quirk and fault the other has. What determines the winner is…" She stomped one foot to the podium, exaggeratedly lifting the mic to her beak, "Which one will abandon all morals to put the other in their place? Oswald already struck a critical blow."

"Indeed and we all felt that sting!" Jamface winced. "Let us divert to Prescott and Cecelia with the weather! Lovebirds!" He diverted to the couple hovering above the action. Prescott with his fluttering feet, and Cecelia on a cloud she conjured.

"There's a storm brewing, Jamface, and it promises to be a hurricane!" Prescott bellowed adamantly.

"We've got 40 mile an hour insults with a high chance of heavy showering personal blows!" Cecelia added, leaning to Prescott's head.

"The temperature may be cool, but things are HEATING UP FAST! And are guaranteed to get hotter!" He swung a fist. The two came together and chimed, "Back to you!"

"Alright then!" Jamface pushed the hat forward, edging into the action. "Back to our regularly scheduled drama." During that intermission, Clara brought popcorn and sodas for everyone.

"Admit it, Oswald! You keep leaving to avoid me!" Ortensia pulled teeth.

"I love you! I'd never avoid you on purpose!" He earned brownie points from Daisy and Cecelia with the I love you. Prescott, Mickey, and Donald, however, sensed the BUT coming a mile away. "Besides, I ask you to come along, but you choose to stay home and garden and eat bon-bons!"

"UGH! I do not eat bon-bons all the time!" She folded her arms, pouting her lower lip. "Sometimes I eat truffles." Oswald's whole brow collapsed in a gorilla scowl. While the men in the audience failed to see the difference, the women folk showed them diagrams highlighting the contrasts of the desserts. It all made sense now. "And I can't drop everything like you can. Too much time away from home is bad for a relationship!" She countered stubbornly.

"She has a point there." Daisy agreed.

"And you're a horrible influence on our kids!" Ortensia's words were a bolt to his heart. He clamped hands to his chest, absolutely disgusted she said such a thing. Everyone's jaws, save for Mickey and Cecelia, slackened completely gobsmacked.

"How am I the bad influence?! I'm a hero!"

"A hero who shirks all responsibility and uses his title to get out of housework!"

"OH AND ORTENSIA REGAINS GROUND FAST!" Daisy clawed at her scalp. Such a flawless execution. "Dad is gone, leaving Mom to do all the work! A cliche if ever I heard one!"

Cecelia descended and covered the mic. Mickey climbed onto her head and they whispered to Jamface and Daisy, "Their kids?" They didn't even realize those two had kids. Not even Mickey and he's been to Wasteland twice.

"Wee. They have one, two, carry the ten…" Jamface needed Daisy's fingers to count. Mickey and Cecelia were dumbstruck when they reached 20 and multiplied by 10, "Four hundred and twenty bunny/cat children."

Mickey and Cecelia's eyes literally became dots and their mouths hung agape. A hollow wind brushed past, carrying with it utter disbelief, and the number four hundred and twenty through their ears in big, bold letters. Their necks craned like rusty joints. Shaky fingers pointed in Ortensia's direction. Prescott lowered the fingers. "Sometimes it's best not to ask."

"I'm so glad Minnie wants to hold off on kids." Mickey droned weakly.

"I'm not sure if I want them now." Cecelia's voice cracked. Daisy and Jamface snickered under their breath. Children in love.

"You've only offered to take me once! And that one time I say no and you assume I won't want to ever!" Ortensia continued. "It's because you assume that we end up in bad situations! You never think anything through!" Cecelia, Mickey, Donald, and Horace stifled gasps and looked away. She got him there.

"Ho-ho, the rabbit is in the deep trouble!" Jamface rumbled ominously. Gus rolled a deep tone drum for affect.

"YEAH?! Well...you...gah...oh boy!" Oswlad's tongue was in knots. He broke into a sweat, rubbing at his neck.

"He's stammering!" Prescott cirnged.

"He's losing his edge!" Cecelia weaved back.

"Can he recover?" Jamface cowered behind the table. No way was Oswald going to go down like this. Least of all when none of this should be on him at all. Time for him to bring out the big guns. The one solid piece of evidence that will bring this to a close. He snickered under his breath. "OOH, HE JUST GOT A TWINKLE IN HIS EYE!"

"A twinkle means a plan!" Daisy was on the edge of her seat.

"An underhanded plan!" Gus included menacingly.

"What's it gonna be?" Prescott muttered. Everyone came in, listening to find out.

Oswald folded his hands behind his back, taking in a slow breath to calm his buzzing nerves. "If you recall, Ortensia.." He itched his nose, mapping it all out in his head, "YOU made ME sleep on the couch last night."

"Yeah! And?" She failed to see his point.

"You're the one who should have slept there!" Oohs reverberated from the crowd, eyes coasting to Ortensia.

"Why?" She scoffed.

Oswald ripped his hands out and showed her a calendar. "Because YOU forgot OUR anniversary! NOT ME!" WAH-WAH-WAAH! Another musical sting bringing a three pan zoom on a the circled and hearted date. Gasps of the stunned came from all around.

"No I didn't!" Ortensia fervently denied.

"Oh yeah? Here!" He threw a calendar at her. The precise month smacked her in the face. She peeled it off, glaring at the calendar. What she saw made her lose color. "You screamed at me yesterday morning because you thought our anniversary was today! Check again!" She swallowed a massive lump. The date for thursday wasn't it. But the one for tomorrow on Saturday...she went stone cold. "That's right, SADIE!" He thrust an accusing finger. "Our anniversary wasn't yesterday. Not even today. IT'S TOMORROW!" The words echoed like a gunshot, shattering Ortensia to billions of pieces.

"OOOHHH!" The crowd roared.

"AND A ROLE REVERSAL ON A TIMELESS CLICHE!" Jamface and Daisy barked.

"SHE forgot an anniversary?" Clarabelle gasped. Clara clucked in outrage. Cecelia was left speechless too. "Why that sets an all new tone for anniversaries everywhere!"

"Woof!" Prescott, Donald, and Mickey felt the breeze on that one. Ortensia was wobbly, sickly groaning, and then collapsed with no fight left. "WHOA!"

"AND SHE'S DOWN!" Daisy and Jamface screamed.

"OSWALD WINS!" Cecelia and Prescott cheered. Then they cringed, realizing this was not something to cheer over. Prescott burst her cloud and she rode him to a safe landing.

Oswald ran over and propped her up, fanning her off. "You alright?!" He panicked, brushing the backs of his fingers to her face.

"I'll be fine, but…" She moan with such disgust for herself. "I can't believe I mixed up the dates."

"Well, you've been busy."

"With what?!" Ortensia doesn't adventure, doesn't help with the clean up. She hasn't done anything to warrant how she's treated Oswald.

Oswald took her cheek in his hand, bringing her to meet his loving gaze. "Being the best wife, mother, and Queen Wasteland and I could ever ask for." Oswald planted a kiss to her lips, snuggling his forehead to hers. "I love you, Ortensia. Regardless of our anniversary date."

"Aww…" She melted in his arms.

"AAWW…" Cecelia, Daisy, Clara, and Clarabelle huddled close.

"Blegh…" The rest of the males gagged on the mush. Cecelia and Daisy threw mud at their boyfriends while Clarabelle and Clara housed down Mickey, Jamface, Gus, and Horace.

Oswald laughed at his friends, then picked up his girl like the bride she was. "Whaddya say we kick the anniversary into high gear early? I've got a spot in Tomorrow City that'll make your eyes sparkle. More than they do now." He added with a debonair wriggle of the brow. He crushed the hearts of the women folk, dropping them in the boy's arms.

Ortensia wrapped her arms around his neck, rubbing their noses together. "I'd like that." Oswald's ears revved into overdrive and off they flew into the morning sun.

"They're so cute!" Daisy fawned.

"I know!" Clarabelle batted hearts in her eyes.

"They kill me!" Cecelia blushed. Clara clucked her heart out, swooning in Cecelia's arms. Clarabelle pulled a box of tissues, and she and the rest of the women folk wept with boundless joy.

The guys stayed off to the side, shaking their heads and rolling their eyes. In unison they said, "Women."

Yay, fun.

To be continued.