Disclaimer: I own Tawny and Palmer, NO ONE OR THING ELSE.
Chickens . . . I blame you, Deli . . . explodes into hysterical laughter
Chapter Ten!
Chickens.
Palmer Shamrock, eccentric younger sister to the renown Tawny Shamrock, skipped along the path. It was a beautiful day. The sun was singing, the birds were shining, no pesky guards were chasing her, yup, all was well with the world . . .
WAP!
. . . which was exactly why she didn't notice the red brick wall smack in front of her until she had the misfortune to hit it.
"Now, how did that get there?" the kendermaid mused to herself, rubbing her forehead. She had long, long hair that she had colored an amazing array of colors: sky blue, three types of purple, hot pink, lime green, ruby red, sunny yellow, stark orange, dove grey, all the colors of the rainbow (and more, as she had the habit of mixing them together to get an interesting brown or unamed color). It hung down in a long topknot, adorned with several soft feathers, leaves, an occasional bell, and flowers of every color wrapped in her strands. Her face was cherubic and sweet, with soft, large, doe-like brown eyes that veily bubbled over with her zest and untainted joy for life. Unlike her elder sister, who adorned everything with whatever she could get her hands on, Palmer wore bright, cheerful colors, yellows and greens and sky blues. She tie-died everything she could get her hands on, including her shoes and pouches. Also unlike Tawny, who played with bottles of purfume human women so carelessly left on closet shelves, Palmer simply did not use man-made smells: a perpetual sent of fresh grass and sweet flowers and ripe apples and clear spring water hung around Palmer, a sent that only seemed to enhance her joy for life.
Skipping undauntedly away from the troublesome brick wall (not stopping to think just how a brick wall got in the middle of the road) the kendermaid hopped to the side of the wall, and peered into the fenced-in place.
It was a chickenhouse.
A rather pretty red brick chicken house, Palmer observed. The chickens-never had she seen so many, not even on Uncle Hablon's farm-were everywhere! They were literarily scrambling on top of each other to get to the food.
But who cared? They were chickens!
Giggling, Palmer leaned over the fence, observing the chickens. She noticed how they seemed so skinny! Small and boney, she could see them scramble for what was left of the food, which wasn't much. Palmer looked around. These chickens were obviously hungry, starving probably-Palmer's eyes took on an angry light. These chickens were starving, she noted. How rude! The poor chickens!
Well, Palmer decided, smiling, she would fix that.
Hopping down from the fence, the kendermaid rifled in her tie-died pouches for something to feed the chickens. She came up with nothing, just a feather (which she stuck in her topknot), a piece of string (that went back in the pouch), a bulky, heavy platinum-and-ruby ring (tossed carelessly over she shoulder), a husk doll (back in the pouch) and some of the pouches her sister Tawny had given her.
Didn't Tawny have a powder of some sort . . . ?
Palmer suddenly rifled back through her pouches, looking for the one Tawny hadgiven her. It was the only one not tie-died, for it was made entirely of sequins sewn together. Opening it, her smile turned into a full-fledged beam.
Inside lay the purply-pinky powder Tawny had given her. Because it had been smushed together, most of it was pressed into hard bits that were perfect for the part of chickenfeed.
Hastily closing the pouch, the excited kendermaid hopped onto the fence and promptly opened it again. Smiling at the chickens, she reached in a flung a handful of the stuff onto the chickens.
They hastened to it, pecking and eating the powder hungrily. All the other chickens came over, and it became a frenzy.
Delighted that she had been able to help, Palmer flung handful after handful onto the chickens, finally dumping the whole bag. She watched eagerly as all the particles of powder were consumed, grinning. She had fed the chickens!
Giggling, she tied the pouch back on. The chickens were no longer hungry, and she could always use the pouch for later stuff she hapened to find along the way. She looked over her shoulder and noticed that the chickens were stnading very, very still.
And then they started to caw wildly and sun around in circles.
Once she (almost) quit laughing, Palmer noted how energetic the chickens had become. She looked over at the tiny yard: it was simply not enough! Humans could be so cruel. Shaking her head, Palmer inspected the gate: it was a rusty thing, and old. Someone had abandoned these chickens!
How mean.
Palmer grinned as she finished inspecting the gate. It would give. Looking over at the over-enthusiastic chickens, she smiled and, with a jerk of her leg, kicked down the door.
Imeadiately, the chickens ran out onto the yard, flapping and skipping. Happy that she had helped, Palmer continued on her way, blissfully unaware of the havoc that her seemingly harmless actions was about to cause . . .
duh duh duh.
Time passes slowly when you are forced to listen to a million laughing, chattering, annoying, dancing, pineappling, singing, irritating, cajoling, begging, whining, trilling, purring furbies.
Raistlin the Red-faced, Caramon the Big Red Balloon, Kitiara the Demented Fairy Godmother, Tanis the Hamlet-Wannabe, Tas the Kill-Da-Wabbit-Dude, Sturm the Giant Bunny, and a thouroughly miserable Salem the Dumb-Wizard-Dude-Who-Tried-To-Take-Over-The-Messed-Up-World-And-Failed-And-Because-He-Was-An-Evil-Dumb-Wizard-Dude-And-Really-Whiny-I-Mean-Have-You-Heard-This-Dude-Whine-Anyway-The-Other-Good-Wizard-Dudes-Turned-Him-Into-A-Black-Cat-And-Now-The-Author-Is-Shutting-Up-Now-Bye-Bye were tied upside down to a tree. Of all the dudes, only Caramon and Raistlin looked relatively normal. Read the previous chapters to find out how the others looked.
"Dude, nice name." Caramon remarked over the din of the millionlaughing, chattering, annoying, dancing, pineappling, singing, irritating, cajoling, begging, whining, trilling, purring furbies.
"Dude, that's not my name!" Salem the Dumb-Wizard-Dude-Who-Tried-To-Take-Over-The-Messed-Up-World-And-Failed-And-Because-He-Was-An-Evil-Dumb-Wizard-Dude-And-Really-Whiny-I-Mean-Have-You-Heard-This-Dude-Whine-Anyway-The-Other-Good-Wizard-Dudes-Turned-Him-Into-A-Black-Cat-And-Now-The-Author-Is-Shutting-Up-Now-Bye-Bye replied. "And I resent being called dumb!"
Note: now Salem's title is the Really-Really-Really-Really-Really-Really-Dumb-Wizard-Dude-Who-Tried-To-Take-Over-The-Messed-Up-World-And-Failed-And-Because-He-Was-An-Evil-Dumb-Wizard-Dude-And-Really-Whiny-I-Mean-Have-You-Heard-This-Dude-Whine-Anyway-The-Other-Good-Wizard-Dudes-Turned-Him-Into-A-Black-Cat-And-Now-The-Author-Is-Shutting-Up-Now-Bye-Bye.
"I don't like that either!"
"Oh, just shut up, dude."
"Does anyone have the feeling that we dudes are using the word 'dude' wayyyyyy too much?"
"You can never have too many dudes, dude!"
"Caramon . . . I'm not even going to say it."
"Uh, Raist . . . "
"Yes?"
"What's that?"
"What is what?"
"That big cloud of dust coming up the road and heading right towards us."
"Oh . . . that. I would have to say that was an approaching stampede of rampaging chickens."
"Oh."
. . . silence.
"WHAT!"
Both brothers turned to observed the spetacle of approaching rampaging chickens with growing horror.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" Salem screamed.
"Dude, that was my ear!" Caramon wailed.
"Who cares! We'reabout to be run over and squashied by a bunch of evil rampaging chickens!" Salem wailed.
"Quit wailing!"
The two shut up andall three turned to observed the chickens.
There were a lot of them, certainly. Raistlin would have to say about thirty or fourty.
And thas a lo' chikkens. nods
They came, clucking and clucking louder and scaping and even more clucking! THE PURE ABSOLUTE CHICKENY HORROR!
"Thus the gates of the Abyss spew forth the hellish demons." Caramon said in awe.
"The gates of the Abyss are open! Let me in!" Raistlin brightened up considerably.
Suddenly, all three noticed that the chickens were getting closer . . . and closer . . . and closer . . .
"Brace yourselves." Raistlin muttered grimly, following his own advice.
The rampaging chickens had arrived.
still laughing
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