**A/N: Gods, this took me a while to spit out... how long has it been,
three months? Eh, I wrote this segment a while ago, but I kept on
procrastinating. ^_^;
A couple of thigs: One, I have been told that my pointless humour sounds muchly like Monty Python. Personally I can't see much resemblance, but for your amusement I inserted a Monty Python ref. in this segment. So, yay for me, I s'pose. Only, be warned: if you're not a true connoisseur of MONTY PYTHON'S FLYING CIRCUS, you prob'ly won't get it.
Two: About the whole transie/sexuality issue... I don't want people thinking that I'm homophobic or prejudiced, hence this extensive A/N. I'm not trying to be judgemental, mmkay? I'm trying to make people laugh. Yes, Auron's character may be stereotypical, but it's meant to be HUMOROUS. The whole "god of transvestites" thing is meant to be HUMOROUS. Joren's constant self-affirmation of his masculinity is meant to be HUMOROUS. Everything in this story is meant to be funny, not homophobic or sexist- besides, it's hard to be homophobic when you don't exactly swing straight yourself. Maybe sometime I'll write a serious fic on matters of gender stereotypes and sexuality, but for now I'm just having fun, so don't flame me unless you find yourself haemorrhaging with the need to post a hateful review.
Eh, I can be so long-winded. Anyway, read on!**
Chapter Three: The Challenge
The woman standing in the doorway was the most beautiful female Joren had ever seen- more beautiful that Queen Thayet, and not a beaky-nosed cross-dresser. (The irony of that thought isn't very subtle, as you will see.) The slits in the skirt of her rose-coloured gown showed long, shapely legs; her huge eyes were the colour of liquid amber, set in a smooth, full-lipped face framed by silky strands of golden hair; the dress' plunging neckline showed a small patch of chest hair-
Wait a minute,
CHEST HAIR?
Joren's eyes travelled down a little to see that the "woman" was missing two choice bits of anatomy. He gasped and backed up, tripped over a misplaced violet pouffe and stumbled to a stop.
The transvestite sighed and shook his head. "Why do my champions always do that when they first meet me?" he asked the stallion, who stood by his side.
The stallion shrugged. "Frankly, I've no idea, mistress. Are you going to be insulted and torture him without mercy?"
The transvestite beamed. "No. He's too darn cute."
Joren would have gasped in indignation, but he was preoccupied with his own thoughts.
::Oh, Bright Mithros. She's a he... And I was- I- But I didn't know! That makes it alright, right? I mean, he's so attracti- AAH! Not attractive! Not attractive! Must retain heterosexuality... must not become unmanly... I am filled with testosterone. No femininity in me, nope, not even if he's so good-loo- ARGH!!! HE IS NOT GOOD-LOOKING!!!::
And underneath it all, one word echoed loudly through his mind: Eep.
::Alright,:: he thought after a moment, trying to remember to breathe. ::It's okay. Just be... uh... angry. Yeah. Be angry, and you will get out of this with your manhood intact...:: Swallowing hard, he straightened and tried to look outraged. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded,. He made the mistake of looking at the transvestite's face when he said it, and his voice sounded shrill. He immediately transferred his gaze to the ornate gilt doorframe.
The transvestite smiled. "Hello, Joren. Sorry if I startled you, but you see, I have a weakness for surprising entrances." He held out a soft, well-manicured hand. (There were little daisies painted on his thumbnail, Joren noticed.) "I'm Auron, god of cross-dressers."
"I didn't ask your name!" Joren snapped at the doorframe. "I asked what is the meaning of this!"
Auron paused. "A definition, hmm?" He considered for a moment, then snapped his fingers. A heavy, leather-bound book appeared, hovering in the air before him. He opened it, sneezing a little as dust rose from the yellowed pages rose up in a cloud around him. "This is a Summons," he explained, flipping through the book until he neared the end. Squinting at the faded writing scrawling across the paper, he read, "'Summons, n; a time at which the god of transvestites uses the Holy Scroll to summon a champion. Said god retains the right to withhold the purpose of said Summons, but may disclose said information under certain circumstances. Noun interchangeable with Command, Call, and Snitching-Mortals-Away-For- Evil-Purposes.'"
Behind him, the stallion was murmuring something that sounded very much like "Drink Pepsi, drink Pepsi, drink Pepsi..."
Auron closed the book with a snap. "'The Literal Work of Grammatical Dictational Literature of and by the Gods/Goddesses of Cross-Dressing Reversal Roles, and Fizzy Liquids'," he said, pointing to the book's cover. "It dates all the way back to when Anahar was just a teensy little blob of metaphysical energy." He shuddered. "Anahar's the goddess of dominatri- she's very scary."
"But why Summon ME?" Joren demanded of the doorframe. "And why did you tell me to use the Holy Scroll to destroy Keladry?" He allowed himself a smirk. "I mean, it'd be a pleasure, but why would care about her?"
He had half-expected the god to get angry at his presumption and strike him with lightning or something, but Auron just smiled a little wistfully. Joren's heart caught in his throat at the expression. "Oh, it's a long story, Jori- can I call you Jori?" At Joren's spluttered denial, he nodded, "Good. It's a long story, like I said- maybe the Holy Scroll can explain it better than I." He snapped his fingers again, and the pouch at Joren's waist suddenly felt lighter. The Scroll appeared in Auron's hand. He smoothed it out and knelt, placing it on the floor. Joren bent over it to see it better, then, remembering that he was in the same room as a transvestite who might take that as an invitation (::He's NOT attractive! I'm a MAN!::), knelt as well as words began to appear, flowing in an overly fancy script down the Scroll.
***********************************************************************
In the Beginning, it began, before time was time, before there was the Earth, before Mother Flame and Father Universe ever dreamed of fruit bats- in the beginning, there were cross-dressers.
There was Avaron and Anahar, there was Aariel and Abiran, there was Auriet and Auron, and all the other gods of cross-dressing, reversal roles, and fizzy liquids (drinks Pepsi) whose names begin with A, or sometimes X or CHZ. And they went forth into the world with their whips and drag and garlands of hot-pink flowers, and all was good.
And then IT came into the world.
"It?" muttered Joren questioningly.
Auron touched a finger to his lips. "Shh," he whispered, digging a handful of salted popcorn from a striped bag.
The god of squirrels was an evil thing, demonic in a cute and fuzzy sort of way, but the Great Mother Goddess was enraptured with it, and cuddled it and petted it and allowed it to spread its evil spawn throughout the world. The gods of cross-dressers were pushed to the side, and the god of squirrels rose higher and higher in the eyes of the Great Gods.
This distressed the gods of cross-dressing, and they conspired amongst themselves, plotting how to reseat themselves in favour. Finally, the god Auron-
Auron beamed.
- decided to confront the heinous rodent. He challenged the squirrel god, before the Great Mother Goddess and Mithros Themselves, to a duel to the death. But, when Auron cheated by way of the illegal uses of a fruit bat-
"I couldn't HELP it," complained Auron. "It was just LYING there!"
-he was exiled to the mortal realms, until the day that he challenged the squirrel god again, and won.
Auron rolled the Scroll up and put it in the pocket of his dress. "There you have it," he said. "You probably know that it's unlawful for the gods to directly use their powers to get their own way in the mortal realms, and, as I'm stuck here, all I can do is get a champion to fight for me, and courtesy dictates that the squirrel god does the same." He grinned wickedly. "However, there's no rule that says I can't... IMPROVE that champion a bit. That's where THE TOUPEE comes in."
Joren scowled at the idea of being improved and stood, wiping scant bits of dust from his breeches. "But how do you know the squirrel god will choose Keladry?" he asked Auron, his voice going shrill again. ::Doorframe! Look at the doorframe!::
The god shrugged. "It's a system we gods've worked out- we make our champions mortal enemies as often as possible. It's more fun for everyone involved, then. And, if the he doesn't..." He shrugged again. His amber eyes suddenly looked distant and hard. "If you win this battle for me, mortal, against whichever champion the evil rodent chooses, I will grant you power beyond your wildest dreams. Money, magic, mastery- may it never be said that the gods do not reward those who follow them."
The page gulped and fidgeted as Auron fixed him with his gaze. It was unnerving being stared down by a pretty man in a dress at any time, he thought, but it was somehow twice as strange when that man's eyes were an icy amber and he seemed to faintly glow. "Uh-huh. And... not suggesting it'll happen or anything, but... what if I lose?"
Auron blinked, and the godly look faded as he gave another wicked grin. "According to the rules, I get to keep you here with me in my fortress, and do as I wish with you." He grinned still more widely. "Lucky me."
Joren swallowed hard. ::Man. Man in a dress.::
"So, how do I use this TOUPEE?" he asked, taking the object from his pouch.
***********************************************************************
The marshmallow thief was well ahead of Jon when he stopped to catch his breath. Once he'd done that- and scolded it for running away- he looked around. He was in a part of the Palace that he'd never seen before, a long, sunlit hall lined with dusty shelves which were filled with ragged scrolls. Was it a part of the catacombs? Seeing a woman dressed in grey working at a desk in the corner between two shelves, he smiled in relief.
"Excuse me," he said loudly, trying to fill the rather oppressive- not to mention dusty- silence. "Where exactly am I?"
The woman didn't bother looking up from the model she was building- some construction of tiny bricked made of a coloured material which he couldn't quite name. It seemed to be a miniature Corus, with yellow-headed people roaming the multihued streets. "Files and Records, main hall," she muttered, carefully placing a little yellow man atop of what looked like Balor's Needle. In a squeaky voice she said, "Help! Help! I'm being pushed off the Neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-" She flicked the little man off of the mini-Needle, making a disturbingly realistic SPLATing noise when it hit the desk.
Jon stared at it for a moment, feeling a bit queasy, then shrugged. "Just curious, have you seen a Memory with a bag of marshmallows pass this way recently? Because-"
The woman held a finger to her lips. "Shh!" she whsipered. "Mari's grieving!" She picked up a female yellow figure and stood it by the downed male one, beginning to sob in a pathetic and absurdly high voice. "Oh, Jared! You've died! And now I must keeeeeeeeeeeel myself!"
The little woman was moved to the top of Balor's Needle, and then made to jump off of it.
"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-" The woman choked off the feigned death squeal mid-vowel, her head snapping back with an audible snap that made Jon wince in sympathy. When it regained its original position, her eyes were glowing with a misty purple-red light. Her voice was guttural and harsh.
"Drink Pepsi, drink Pepsi, drink Pepsi, drink Pepsi, drink Pepsi, drink-" All at once she slumped forwards, eyes closing, onto the model of Corus. Her face twitched once, and she muttered in what appeared to be sleep as pieces of the Riders' Barracks fell around Jon's feet.
He stared at the woman in perplexity for a moment, then shrugged- what did librarians who build little models matter next to a renegade Memory with a bag of marshmallows?- and turned, trying to find his way out of the Files and Records hall. His exit was hampered, however, by the rapid- and rabid- approach of a black-haired young lady in odd blue canvas pants, with a wolf's bushy tail and the gleam of a fanatic in her blue eyes.
"JOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!" she screamed. The effect was marred a bit by the bout of coughing somewhere between the fifth and seventh O's, but she still came off as a dangerous fangirl, perhaps because of the excessive drooling.
Jon, though was not easy to impress. (Or so he thought, as he stared for a moment in fascination at a blue brick of inexplicable material lying at his feet and considered having it made a Royal Treasure.) He had dealt with fangirls before- it was one of his skills.
"Go away," he said, flapping a hand at her. "I'm trying to find a bag of marshmallows and ponder the existence of these bricks of inexplicable substance. And besides, my name sounds terrible when you say it like that."
The fangirl halted in her tracks, her eyes beginning to gleam wetly. "B-but it's my ONLY LINE!" she said tearfully.
***********************************************************************
Kel's eyelids fluttered, then lifted. She bolted upright, grabbing for her glaive without bothering to wonder why it still rested at her side. Sand surrounded her, not the rough dark sand of Tortallan beaches, but soft white sand, the kind that crept into areas of your clothing and anatomy that you had formerly thought unreachable. Low walls encircled the sand's edge, ringed with steeply-rising seats. It was an amphitheatre. As she got to her feet, a white spotlight momentarily blinded her. She blinked and saw spots beneath her eyelids.
"Keladry of Mindelan!" a voice boomed. Kel knew it all too well. She grimaced and turned. As she'd thought, it was Joren of Stone Mountain, as beautiful and cold as ever, standing against the low wall. Even from where she stood she could see his smug expression.
But why was he wearing a wig?
Joren turned to Auron who stood behind the wall in the stands, bowing and keeping his eyes on the amphitheatre sand. "I am ready to fight."
Auron clapped his hands. "Splendid!" he exclaimed. "You remember how to use THE TOUPEE?" Joren nodded. "Good. Issue the challenge. And Jori," he added as the boy turned away, "remember the stakes!"
Joren forced himself to shudder- ::Male. Unattractive. Neutral.::- and faced Keladry. The page stood there, her Yamani pigsticker in her hands, her cursed face as smooth as porcelain. "I challenge you to a duel, Mindelan," he said harshly. "For the honour of the gods and of men- to the death."
Keladry bowed. "And I accept, Stone Mountain," she whispered, shifting her weight form foot to foot, "for the honour of those you have cheated out of Pepsi and a coffee alternative!"
Joren drew his sword, wincing as THE TOUPEE hummed loudly on his head.
The clash as both blades met was the only sound in the amphitheatre.
***********************************************************************
In Corus, the squirrel god was in the middle of eating Neal's second- best tunic when he stiffened, as though hearing a sound that none other could hear. He squeaked once, twice, three times, and with a thunderbolt- accompanied by the smell of overripe grapefruit- the god disappeared.
***
A couple of thigs: One, I have been told that my pointless humour sounds muchly like Monty Python. Personally I can't see much resemblance, but for your amusement I inserted a Monty Python ref. in this segment. So, yay for me, I s'pose. Only, be warned: if you're not a true connoisseur of MONTY PYTHON'S FLYING CIRCUS, you prob'ly won't get it.
Two: About the whole transie/sexuality issue... I don't want people thinking that I'm homophobic or prejudiced, hence this extensive A/N. I'm not trying to be judgemental, mmkay? I'm trying to make people laugh. Yes, Auron's character may be stereotypical, but it's meant to be HUMOROUS. The whole "god of transvestites" thing is meant to be HUMOROUS. Joren's constant self-affirmation of his masculinity is meant to be HUMOROUS. Everything in this story is meant to be funny, not homophobic or sexist- besides, it's hard to be homophobic when you don't exactly swing straight yourself. Maybe sometime I'll write a serious fic on matters of gender stereotypes and sexuality, but for now I'm just having fun, so don't flame me unless you find yourself haemorrhaging with the need to post a hateful review.
Eh, I can be so long-winded. Anyway, read on!**
Chapter Three: The Challenge
The woman standing in the doorway was the most beautiful female Joren had ever seen- more beautiful that Queen Thayet, and not a beaky-nosed cross-dresser. (The irony of that thought isn't very subtle, as you will see.) The slits in the skirt of her rose-coloured gown showed long, shapely legs; her huge eyes were the colour of liquid amber, set in a smooth, full-lipped face framed by silky strands of golden hair; the dress' plunging neckline showed a small patch of chest hair-
Wait a minute,
CHEST HAIR?
Joren's eyes travelled down a little to see that the "woman" was missing two choice bits of anatomy. He gasped and backed up, tripped over a misplaced violet pouffe and stumbled to a stop.
The transvestite sighed and shook his head. "Why do my champions always do that when they first meet me?" he asked the stallion, who stood by his side.
The stallion shrugged. "Frankly, I've no idea, mistress. Are you going to be insulted and torture him without mercy?"
The transvestite beamed. "No. He's too darn cute."
Joren would have gasped in indignation, but he was preoccupied with his own thoughts.
::Oh, Bright Mithros. She's a he... And I was- I- But I didn't know! That makes it alright, right? I mean, he's so attracti- AAH! Not attractive! Not attractive! Must retain heterosexuality... must not become unmanly... I am filled with testosterone. No femininity in me, nope, not even if he's so good-loo- ARGH!!! HE IS NOT GOOD-LOOKING!!!::
And underneath it all, one word echoed loudly through his mind: Eep.
::Alright,:: he thought after a moment, trying to remember to breathe. ::It's okay. Just be... uh... angry. Yeah. Be angry, and you will get out of this with your manhood intact...:: Swallowing hard, he straightened and tried to look outraged. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded,. He made the mistake of looking at the transvestite's face when he said it, and his voice sounded shrill. He immediately transferred his gaze to the ornate gilt doorframe.
The transvestite smiled. "Hello, Joren. Sorry if I startled you, but you see, I have a weakness for surprising entrances." He held out a soft, well-manicured hand. (There were little daisies painted on his thumbnail, Joren noticed.) "I'm Auron, god of cross-dressers."
"I didn't ask your name!" Joren snapped at the doorframe. "I asked what is the meaning of this!"
Auron paused. "A definition, hmm?" He considered for a moment, then snapped his fingers. A heavy, leather-bound book appeared, hovering in the air before him. He opened it, sneezing a little as dust rose from the yellowed pages rose up in a cloud around him. "This is a Summons," he explained, flipping through the book until he neared the end. Squinting at the faded writing scrawling across the paper, he read, "'Summons, n; a time at which the god of transvestites uses the Holy Scroll to summon a champion. Said god retains the right to withhold the purpose of said Summons, but may disclose said information under certain circumstances. Noun interchangeable with Command, Call, and Snitching-Mortals-Away-For- Evil-Purposes.'"
Behind him, the stallion was murmuring something that sounded very much like "Drink Pepsi, drink Pepsi, drink Pepsi..."
Auron closed the book with a snap. "'The Literal Work of Grammatical Dictational Literature of and by the Gods/Goddesses of Cross-Dressing Reversal Roles, and Fizzy Liquids'," he said, pointing to the book's cover. "It dates all the way back to when Anahar was just a teensy little blob of metaphysical energy." He shuddered. "Anahar's the goddess of dominatri- she's very scary."
"But why Summon ME?" Joren demanded of the doorframe. "And why did you tell me to use the Holy Scroll to destroy Keladry?" He allowed himself a smirk. "I mean, it'd be a pleasure, but why would care about her?"
He had half-expected the god to get angry at his presumption and strike him with lightning or something, but Auron just smiled a little wistfully. Joren's heart caught in his throat at the expression. "Oh, it's a long story, Jori- can I call you Jori?" At Joren's spluttered denial, he nodded, "Good. It's a long story, like I said- maybe the Holy Scroll can explain it better than I." He snapped his fingers again, and the pouch at Joren's waist suddenly felt lighter. The Scroll appeared in Auron's hand. He smoothed it out and knelt, placing it on the floor. Joren bent over it to see it better, then, remembering that he was in the same room as a transvestite who might take that as an invitation (::He's NOT attractive! I'm a MAN!::), knelt as well as words began to appear, flowing in an overly fancy script down the Scroll.
***********************************************************************
In the Beginning, it began, before time was time, before there was the Earth, before Mother Flame and Father Universe ever dreamed of fruit bats- in the beginning, there were cross-dressers.
There was Avaron and Anahar, there was Aariel and Abiran, there was Auriet and Auron, and all the other gods of cross-dressing, reversal roles, and fizzy liquids (drinks Pepsi) whose names begin with A, or sometimes X or CHZ. And they went forth into the world with their whips and drag and garlands of hot-pink flowers, and all was good.
And then IT came into the world.
"It?" muttered Joren questioningly.
Auron touched a finger to his lips. "Shh," he whispered, digging a handful of salted popcorn from a striped bag.
The god of squirrels was an evil thing, demonic in a cute and fuzzy sort of way, but the Great Mother Goddess was enraptured with it, and cuddled it and petted it and allowed it to spread its evil spawn throughout the world. The gods of cross-dressers were pushed to the side, and the god of squirrels rose higher and higher in the eyes of the Great Gods.
This distressed the gods of cross-dressing, and they conspired amongst themselves, plotting how to reseat themselves in favour. Finally, the god Auron-
Auron beamed.
- decided to confront the heinous rodent. He challenged the squirrel god, before the Great Mother Goddess and Mithros Themselves, to a duel to the death. But, when Auron cheated by way of the illegal uses of a fruit bat-
"I couldn't HELP it," complained Auron. "It was just LYING there!"
-he was exiled to the mortal realms, until the day that he challenged the squirrel god again, and won.
Auron rolled the Scroll up and put it in the pocket of his dress. "There you have it," he said. "You probably know that it's unlawful for the gods to directly use their powers to get their own way in the mortal realms, and, as I'm stuck here, all I can do is get a champion to fight for me, and courtesy dictates that the squirrel god does the same." He grinned wickedly. "However, there's no rule that says I can't... IMPROVE that champion a bit. That's where THE TOUPEE comes in."
Joren scowled at the idea of being improved and stood, wiping scant bits of dust from his breeches. "But how do you know the squirrel god will choose Keladry?" he asked Auron, his voice going shrill again. ::Doorframe! Look at the doorframe!::
The god shrugged. "It's a system we gods've worked out- we make our champions mortal enemies as often as possible. It's more fun for everyone involved, then. And, if the he doesn't..." He shrugged again. His amber eyes suddenly looked distant and hard. "If you win this battle for me, mortal, against whichever champion the evil rodent chooses, I will grant you power beyond your wildest dreams. Money, magic, mastery- may it never be said that the gods do not reward those who follow them."
The page gulped and fidgeted as Auron fixed him with his gaze. It was unnerving being stared down by a pretty man in a dress at any time, he thought, but it was somehow twice as strange when that man's eyes were an icy amber and he seemed to faintly glow. "Uh-huh. And... not suggesting it'll happen or anything, but... what if I lose?"
Auron blinked, and the godly look faded as he gave another wicked grin. "According to the rules, I get to keep you here with me in my fortress, and do as I wish with you." He grinned still more widely. "Lucky me."
Joren swallowed hard. ::Man. Man in a dress.::
"So, how do I use this TOUPEE?" he asked, taking the object from his pouch.
***********************************************************************
The marshmallow thief was well ahead of Jon when he stopped to catch his breath. Once he'd done that- and scolded it for running away- he looked around. He was in a part of the Palace that he'd never seen before, a long, sunlit hall lined with dusty shelves which were filled with ragged scrolls. Was it a part of the catacombs? Seeing a woman dressed in grey working at a desk in the corner between two shelves, he smiled in relief.
"Excuse me," he said loudly, trying to fill the rather oppressive- not to mention dusty- silence. "Where exactly am I?"
The woman didn't bother looking up from the model she was building- some construction of tiny bricked made of a coloured material which he couldn't quite name. It seemed to be a miniature Corus, with yellow-headed people roaming the multihued streets. "Files and Records, main hall," she muttered, carefully placing a little yellow man atop of what looked like Balor's Needle. In a squeaky voice she said, "Help! Help! I'm being pushed off the Neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-" She flicked the little man off of the mini-Needle, making a disturbingly realistic SPLATing noise when it hit the desk.
Jon stared at it for a moment, feeling a bit queasy, then shrugged. "Just curious, have you seen a Memory with a bag of marshmallows pass this way recently? Because-"
The woman held a finger to her lips. "Shh!" she whsipered. "Mari's grieving!" She picked up a female yellow figure and stood it by the downed male one, beginning to sob in a pathetic and absurdly high voice. "Oh, Jared! You've died! And now I must keeeeeeeeeeeel myself!"
The little woman was moved to the top of Balor's Needle, and then made to jump off of it.
"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-" The woman choked off the feigned death squeal mid-vowel, her head snapping back with an audible snap that made Jon wince in sympathy. When it regained its original position, her eyes were glowing with a misty purple-red light. Her voice was guttural and harsh.
"Drink Pepsi, drink Pepsi, drink Pepsi, drink Pepsi, drink Pepsi, drink-" All at once she slumped forwards, eyes closing, onto the model of Corus. Her face twitched once, and she muttered in what appeared to be sleep as pieces of the Riders' Barracks fell around Jon's feet.
He stared at the woman in perplexity for a moment, then shrugged- what did librarians who build little models matter next to a renegade Memory with a bag of marshmallows?- and turned, trying to find his way out of the Files and Records hall. His exit was hampered, however, by the rapid- and rabid- approach of a black-haired young lady in odd blue canvas pants, with a wolf's bushy tail and the gleam of a fanatic in her blue eyes.
"JOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!" she screamed. The effect was marred a bit by the bout of coughing somewhere between the fifth and seventh O's, but she still came off as a dangerous fangirl, perhaps because of the excessive drooling.
Jon, though was not easy to impress. (Or so he thought, as he stared for a moment in fascination at a blue brick of inexplicable material lying at his feet and considered having it made a Royal Treasure.) He had dealt with fangirls before- it was one of his skills.
"Go away," he said, flapping a hand at her. "I'm trying to find a bag of marshmallows and ponder the existence of these bricks of inexplicable substance. And besides, my name sounds terrible when you say it like that."
The fangirl halted in her tracks, her eyes beginning to gleam wetly. "B-but it's my ONLY LINE!" she said tearfully.
***********************************************************************
Kel's eyelids fluttered, then lifted. She bolted upright, grabbing for her glaive without bothering to wonder why it still rested at her side. Sand surrounded her, not the rough dark sand of Tortallan beaches, but soft white sand, the kind that crept into areas of your clothing and anatomy that you had formerly thought unreachable. Low walls encircled the sand's edge, ringed with steeply-rising seats. It was an amphitheatre. As she got to her feet, a white spotlight momentarily blinded her. She blinked and saw spots beneath her eyelids.
"Keladry of Mindelan!" a voice boomed. Kel knew it all too well. She grimaced and turned. As she'd thought, it was Joren of Stone Mountain, as beautiful and cold as ever, standing against the low wall. Even from where she stood she could see his smug expression.
But why was he wearing a wig?
Joren turned to Auron who stood behind the wall in the stands, bowing and keeping his eyes on the amphitheatre sand. "I am ready to fight."
Auron clapped his hands. "Splendid!" he exclaimed. "You remember how to use THE TOUPEE?" Joren nodded. "Good. Issue the challenge. And Jori," he added as the boy turned away, "remember the stakes!"
Joren forced himself to shudder- ::Male. Unattractive. Neutral.::- and faced Keladry. The page stood there, her Yamani pigsticker in her hands, her cursed face as smooth as porcelain. "I challenge you to a duel, Mindelan," he said harshly. "For the honour of the gods and of men- to the death."
Keladry bowed. "And I accept, Stone Mountain," she whispered, shifting her weight form foot to foot, "for the honour of those you have cheated out of Pepsi and a coffee alternative!"
Joren drew his sword, wincing as THE TOUPEE hummed loudly on his head.
The clash as both blades met was the only sound in the amphitheatre.
***********************************************************************
In Corus, the squirrel god was in the middle of eating Neal's second- best tunic when he stiffened, as though hearing a sound that none other could hear. He squeaked once, twice, three times, and with a thunderbolt- accompanied by the smell of overripe grapefruit- the god disappeared.
***