I'm . . . dreamin' of a White . . . Christ . . . mas.
Just like the ones I see on TV.
Anyway, now is the time to introduce those that stand in for the Scarecrow, Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion. This may take a while, because what with Christmas coming (Merry Christmas all, by the way), and after which I am going to a folk festival for a week where there are no computers or electronic devices of any sort. WAHHH! I MISS MY COMPUTER ALREADY!
Anyway, onto my mass of reviews! OK, it was only one this time, but this is a small section and only the beginning! I don't feel disappointed at all! I have no voodoo ingredients anyway! Never mind, never mind.
the Thirteenth Councilor: Hello again, and thank you for reviewing!
I feel your pain most deeply. In bands, or, in any times of great importance, there will always be one time that you stand out. In the bad way. Your story brought tears to my eyes, or at least, made me regard my flute (my other instrument) in great suspicion.
Great news about 'Monty Python and the Search for the Holy Grail!' You could always tell your teacher it explains, or, at least parodies, what served as the basis of our society today! Or, maybe, it illustrates the acceptance of British Comedy into our culture! Or, maybe, that it is really, really funny. Ni! Ni!
Thanks a lot for your support!
Ah, and before I start this chapter, some warnings.
WARNING! THIS CHAPTER MAY PORTRAY FAVOURITE CHARACTERS IN A RATHER UNFLATTERING LIGHT! THIS IS USED TO EMPHASIZE AND EXAGGERATE THEIR ROLES IN THE PARODY, AND DOES NOT REFLECT THE VIEWS AND OPINIONS OF THE AUTHOR!
And,
WARNING! THIS CHAPTER INVOLVES CARD GAMES! THEIR CONTENT HAS BEEN WATERED DOWN WITH DIALOGUE AND SNAPPY DESCRIPTIONS, BUT IN THE CASE OF COMPETITION OVERLOAD, PLEASE IMMEDIATELY LEAVE YOUR COMPUTER AND PLAY EITHER A 'BEAT 'EM UP' OR 'SHOOT 'EM UP' VIDEO GAME!
Now that's over, let's begin!
The set was just being set up. The final leaves were glued, the final words of the script were finalized for the second-to-last time, the previous occupants of the area had finished up there episode and had painted the grass green again, and the coffee machine was perking. All was well, except . . .
"Bob?"
"Yep."
"Rob?"
"Yep."
"Cob?"
"Sure."
"Mr Leonard Charles Wildberry Balderdash III?"
"Present."
"Various cows and football teams?"
"Check!" gasped Tony, dragging a bag of filth behind him. "They're filthy! And the cows eat everything!"
"Alright, that's all the OCs," said Anna, checking her checklist. "What about the Originals?"
"Mrs Underwood left in a huff after we told her we won't need her for a few more chapters," Donald said, stumbling past with a spotlight. "And Miss Farrar won't leave!"
"I WANT MY SCENE!"
--Magical crash!--
"I'll deal with her later," said Anna absentmindedly. "Where are Kitty and our Scarecrow?"
"I'm here," said Kitty grumpily, stalking over, holding an ice pack to her head.
"Where have you been?" asked Anna disapprovingly. "You were supposed to be here half an hour ago!"
"Yeah, well, it took a while to pry me out of the background," said Kitty said, meaningfully glaring at her.
"I said I was sorry," said Anna, saying as if once was enough for such a tiny mistake. "It wasn't my fault. The endless plains were booked for a 4Kids remake of an anime originally meant for teens now aimed at a younger group no-one can specify."
Kitty slunk over to a chair and got out her copy of the script.
"Who's the scarecrow?" she asked after a minute's read.
"I'm not allowed to state that," said Anna. "It's coming up in the following scene."
"Oh, great," sighed Kitty. "Let me guess. Our author's using the preceding scene as filler."
"Maybe," shrugged Anna. "Hey, head up to makeup, and they'll hide that bruise."
Kitty, in a series of events that could be applied to the source of her nickname, growled, stood up, and stalked away.
Anna sighed, and crossed off a line in her checklist. "Guess a cameo by the guys of a highly merchandised anime is out of the question now. And Tony, PLEASE CONTROL THOSE JABBERWOCKIES!"
Everybody ready?
"Hang on!" Tony yelped, trying to coax a large camel-like beast from the Andes into a pen.
Ready?
"No!" yelled Kitty, running out of the makeup room with a hurriedly covered black eye.
Here we go . . .
"Wait a moment!" Anna called. "We're missing the scarecrow!"
He's already on scene. Ready? Lights, camera, parody!
If I Never had a Brain . . .
Panting horribly, Kitty stumbled down the yellow brick road. The boots were thick and worn in for the mercenary, which meant that on top of the fact her legs were getting sweaty from being encased in a three-quarter inch of boot substance the boot's 'knee' was a hand's length above hers and kept riding down, and would likely cause an itchy rash and slowly scrape the skin off her bones.
As she was focused on trying to match wits with a pair of boots (inanimate objects may not have so sophisticated wits, but they are hard set), she didn't notice the land was changing to farms and things. Which was good, because being a city girl would likely scream at a cow.
"Oh, that's a cow."
OK, she didn't scream. But that was likely because 'barnyard animals' was a well-covered subject in London preschools— OH MY GOD! A LLAMA!
"Alpaca," said Kitty calmly, settling to rolling down the top of the boots as far as it would go, making it more comfortable.
Right, right. Not that I was scared or anything, it's just to fill up narration— HOLY SUNFLOWERS!
"Iguanas," said Kitty.
Why would anyone want to— SWEET LEMON-CHICKEN COMBOS!
"Jabberwockies of the speckled pink variety," said Kitty, hardly glancing at the unforgivable crossover with Lewis Carroll's work.
You can't upstage me! I'm the narrator! Take this!
"Um . . . Ostriches."
. . . They're emus, actually. Runs off crying
She then passed fields of crops of various and sometimes doubtful uses. There was wheat, barley, a doubtful use, alfalfa, potatoes, a possibly medical use, and, apparently, crows.
"Get away from me you feather knots! Hey, hey, stop that! Try that again and I'll— OW! If I was free, I would shove your beak up your—"
We stop mercifully there to ask some unnecessary but preparatory questions. Will Kitty notice the curses? Will the character join her party of one? And who, yes, who will be the Scarecrow? All these questions and more shall be answered in following paragraphs, and possibly, a magic 8 ball. Look, it's a parody. You can't expect lots of originality.
"Blast it! That tastes disgusting! Ew, ew, would you stop that! WILL SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP— oh, hello down there."
Kitty stopped and stared at the densest gathering of crows. There, tied nastily to a cross piece, was what would correspond to the Scarecrow character and searcher of brains. You know him, you love him, he's got a trilogy and hundreds of fans dedicated to him . . .
It's . . .
"Don't use my name!" cried out Bartimaeus. "Oh, damn."
"What are you?" Kitty asked the straw bound entity.
"A djinni," sniffed the crow decorated Bartimaeus.
No you're not.
"You're a scarecrow," said Kitty.
"No I'm not!" exclaimed Bartimaeus. "I'm a djinni of great reputation!" As one would expect, this was a great time for a crow above to do what crows are most loathsome of doing.
"No you're not," Kitty said. "You're a scarecrow."
"I'm a djinni!" said Bartimaeus resolutely.
"Scarecrow."
"Djinni."
"Scarecrow!"
"Djinni!"
"Why are you covered in straw and crows then?"
"Why am I made out of rock and moss then?"
"You are supposed to be the scarecrow!" Kitty charged him.
"Why do I have to be the scarecrow? I already got brains!" There is unanimous agreement from fans, as well as the clicking of many shotguns.
Everything shall be explained . . .
"I am a djinni!" cried out Bartimaeus proudly. "I am Bartimaeus! Sakhr al-Jinni, N'gorso the mighty, the Serpent of the Silver Plumes and first place winner in the 'Best Loved Demonic Anti-Hero' competition! I am—"
YOU ARE THE SCARECROW OR DISPOSABLE BYSTANDER NUMBER 37 IN 'THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW'!
"What? An extra? You dare belittle one of such great—"
My surveillance crows! ATTACK!
"Hey, wait, no, YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME!"
I am the author of this parody fic, and I will parody and nobody can stop me. MWAHAHAH!
/A lie down and a few cups of sweet tea later\
"Yeah. Scarecrow. That's me," said the battered Bartimaeus.
Put some feeling into it!
"Yay! I'm the Scarecrow! Duh!" said Bartimaeus again, mimicking the face of someone slammed into a wall by the head four-and-a-half times.
"What are you doing up there?" asked Kitty, now that my borrowed secret spy network of crows had left to get me some wedges for lunch. Damn, I should have given them an extra fifty cents for some sour cream . . .
"I'm scarecrow-ing. What's it look like?" snapped Bartimaeus. "Yeah, yeah. I'm made of straw and stuff and they forgot a brain. Happy now?"
Actually, you're only the scarecrow metaphorically. You're still the demon you are (though slightly restricted to make the plot easier) but you're simply playing the part.
"You tell me that now?" shouted Bartimaeus in disbelief. "Next time I'm getting a buddy to go with me next time I walk in incredibly kidnapper-dense territory!"
I was going there to get the paper. Not my fault if the weekend edition suddenly leapt from my hand and clobbered you. You could never get a buddy any— oh, that's too mean.
"Whatever," with his wicked demon skillz he managed to burn the ropes off and land head first on the ground in a cloud of narrative effect.
"How did you get up there?" Kitty asked as Bartimaeus tried to get the crow goo off his gargoyle skin without actually touching the stuff.
"They put me up there," Bartimaeus 'explained', turning his head around, ooh, let's say, 196 degrees to check his back. "You don't have any disinfectant, do you?"
"Who put you up there and why?" asked Kitty impatiently. Dorothy never had this problem.
"Oh, right, I suppose I have to explain a very descriptive story now, right?" Bartimaeus asked as my crows returned with— Oi! Where's the change?
"That would be nice," said Kitty, tapping her foot, which turned out to be a mistake, because the boots suddenly rolled up again.
"OK. Roll clip!" Bartimaeus pulled out a projector from about his djinni person, and a convenient screen pops out of nowhere.
/Five days ago\
The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the farmers shining and singing to rival them. A good year of sun and rain had brought great crops to them and so all were feeling happy and bright.
Guess who came along?
"Good morning, mate!" said the farmers cheerily to a passing cloaked fellow. "Care to have a drink with us?"
The figure stopped.
"Great harvest this year, eh mate?" one said, raising a glass of beer— ginger beer, not alcoholic, no, no way— in an expression of good will.
Suddenly the figure whipped off his cloak, revealing himself to be the stony gargoyle I like him to be. Bartimaeus!
"That depends!" he boomed in an impressive voice. "Upon whether you have me in a good mood or not!"
The farmers just smiled good-naturedly and raised their glasses. "Well, if you are in a good mood, have a drink with us now."
"If it's all the same to you, I'll think I'll have one anyway!" with a swift movement Bartimaeus swept all the glasses off the table and, in an equally but less admirable way, swallowed all in a single gulp. Then he burped. Because of the drama really, because djinn don't really have stomachs, so can't really build up gas in them then release them either way. Oh, sorry. Am I distracting you?
The farmers stared silently at their empty table for a while, then the smiles returned.
"I'll have to get some more beer then," one said cheerily. "Cheerio!"
"Wait a minute!" said Bartimaeus in his deliciously evil voice they will likely not get right in the movie. "Don't you know who I am?"
"Well, I'm Bob," said the bound-to-get-beer farmer. "And that's Rob—" a farmer with a checkered shirt and large belly farming should have gotten rid of, "Cob—" another farmer with blonde hair standing up in a, yes, you guessed it, corn shape, "And Leonard Charles Wildberry Balderdash III," a very out of place aristocrat man dressed in dark clothes in the style of Ye Olde English waved demurely with a glass of wine. "He manages the sheep dip."
"OK . . ." Bartimaeus seemed taken back that nobody was screaming in fright or for his blood then. "Well then, how about this sheep dip?" he then grabbed the nearest barnyard animal, and with a mighty heave, sent it flying into the distance.
". . . That was a cow," noted Bob. Oh. So that's why there was a lost cow in London in chapter one. I knew that all along. It's just part of my M4D 4U7H0R 5KILLZ.
—"No, you're a mad cow skull!"
"Can you keep your sock puppets quiet?"—
"Can we ask you what you're doing, mate?" asked Rob politely as focus from returned from five days later.
"Why, no. But I'll answer anyway. I am the djinni Bartimaeus!" at this he struck another pose suitable for people with dislocated hips or bishounen anime characters. "I am Sakhr al-Jinni, N'gorso the Mighty, Serpent of the Silver Plumes and Best Looking 1st Person Narrating Character two years running! Well, there was that year when I lost to that stupid French Vampire thing . . . Blood Crucible MY ASS! However, that's not the problem in question here."
Yeah. How come there's all this junk about the Mayfair Witches AND NO MORE LESTAT!
"QUIET YOU TRAITOR!" Bartimaeus roared to somewhere off screen. "Anyway! I am Bartimaeus, Sakhr al-Jinni—"
"You said that before," Cob pointed out.
"You can never hear too much of my brilliance! Because it is only ever a quarter of my true magnificence!" said Bartimaeus. Isn't his lack of modesty SOOOO hot? "Anyway! I'm cool, I got lots of names, you know it. Now, my business here is simple yet so intricate in our modern society! I'm going to have as much fun as I want here! And, at the moment, my current idea of fun is to warp with everyone's mind, so, here I go!"
With a great sweep of his bicep-bulging arm, he sent Bob, Rob, Cob, the table, the front porch of the house, a horse cart (with horses) and a misplaced football team (hang on, how am I going to work that in? Damn you!) into the air and far, far away. There was not one scream, except for the horses and the football team which are gag elements and not counted as actual characters. So Bartimaeus found that he got no pleasure out of this.
"Damn. Now I'll just have to go and rape some rainforests of their beauty," be sighed, turning to go.
"Halt!" cried out an authoritative voice from behind him. He stopped and turned. And there, framed in the sun-filled haze of dust and destruction was—
"Hey, how dare you have a better introduction than me!" Bartimaeus shouted, completely ruining my lasciviously devised re-introduction of Leonard Charles Wildberry Balderdash III.
"Sorry," said Leonard Charles Wildberry Balderdash III, whom we shall just call Leonard— no, Charles— no Wildberry— no, Balderdash— no, a multitude of names like these. All that's important that is he isn't Bartimaeus.
Leonard seemed to notice that Bob, Rob, Cob, the table, the front porch of the house, a horse cart (with horses) and a misplaced football team was recently flung through the air.
"Oh, dear," Charles said. "That didn't seem very gentlemanly of you."
"I'm not a gentleman," Bartimaeus pointed out in his pointing-out way. "I'm a djinni!"
"Ah, of course," said Wildberry, seeming to realize something. "Doubtless, that means that you are wicked and cunning!"
"Yes!" said Bartimaeus proudly. "The wicked-est and cunning-est entity you shall ever meet!"
"Oh really?" said Balderdash politely. "Well, in that case, I think it would be best if I challenge you to a duel!"
"A what?" blurted out Bartimaeus.
A what? Hey, what is this? Is it turning into Yu-Gi-Oh?
Nah . . .
"And the loser will lose his soul to the Shadow Realm!" added Leonard Charles Wildberry Balderdash III, brandishing a very nasty card.
NOOOOO! FORGIVE ME!
/Interlude music\
IT'S TIME! TO DU-DU-DU-DU D-D-D-D-D-D-D-D-DUEL!
/Back to flashback\
"Just kidding!" said Leonard. "We're going to play Blackjack!" he turned over the card he was brandishing about an interlude ago, and it was a harmless . . . QUEEN OF SPADES! AHHHHH!
"Blackjack? That doesn't sound like a very gentlemanly game," noted Bartimaeus, just as I finished having my panic attack. Evil . . . Evil Queen of Spades . . .
"Oh well," said Charles cheerily. "You know how to play, don't you?"
"Sure," sighed Bartimaeus. He held his hand to the side for a moment. A book entitled 'The Encyclopaedia of Games' is thrown from the side, struck his ear, then landed neatly into his hand. Pretending that this was absolutely fine and dandy (Anna must work on her temper) he flicked open the book that fell at a passage. "The object of the game is to gain a total of 21 points or as near as possible without busting – going over 21 – with two or more cards."
Charles nodded in agreement, then held out his hand to his side. A deck of cards was tossed gently from offside, and he snatched it from the air. "Thanks Tony. I'll be dealer since you threw my friends over the hills and far away. Cut the deck, please."
Darn it, thought Bartimaeus as he shuffled the cards. All I wanted was to spread fear and loathing. Now this chump is challenging me to a duel— ahem, game of Blackjack. And he had a better introduction and treatment in my story! He must pay!
"Oh my gosh! Look at that!" Bartimaeus exclaimed, pointing in a random direction. Wildberry glanced away, and Bartimaeus sneakily went through all the cards, mentally copying down the patterns and working out a method to superimpose one image on top of another. He did all this with the help of his multiple levels of consciousness that I could not for the life of me comprehend.
Balderdash turned back. "It's OK. Only mating season. Now, are you ready?" with a smile, he placed the first dealer card face up in front of him, then placed another face down in front of Bartimaeus. "Here is how we bet. First, you and I swap a personal item. Then in the following dealing, whoever has the highest amount (without busting) will get a third item, which I shall donate. Then in the following deal the winner will receive an item from the other. If one gets a pontoon, as well as becoming dealer, they get two items. Whoever has the most items at the end of five deals will win, or, if one loses when one doesn't have any items, the other person wins. Understand?"
Leonard Charles Wildberry Balderdash III put down his item. It was a lavender furry teddy bear with the cutest blue ribbon. Adding to this, he put down what looked like a cross between a dog whistle and a dream catcher with feathers.
Taking this all in quite patiently, Bartimaeus searched about his person for something to donate. He came up with a plushie form of Ptolemy, complete with shiny buttons eyes, because, children, one must not gamble with such material things such as money. It must be toys, focuses of the souls, which when stolen will leave their previous master grieving for the part of their childhood they have lost. MWAHAHAH!
Ahem, sorry. I take that back. Money, money, money. Burn it up like calories. Better yet, send it all my way, and I'll burn it for you.
Now all was set, Bartimaeus checked his first card, and frowned as if disappointed. Inwardly he was bouncing up and down with a party hat on. It was an Ace of Spades!
"Well?" Leonard prompted.
"YMCA! It's fun to stay at the— whoops. I mean, hit me," Bartimaeus indicted his card. Charles tossed a card down.
Bartimaeus checked his card, and his face rose in what could be interpreted as high elation, but was actually incredible dissatisfaction. He had ended up with a Two of Hearts, which is actually pretty useful in a game of Hearts, but not particularly so here. He scowled, which is to say he made a big smile, then put on an innocent act, which is to say he smiled eerily, and sat.
Wildberry's first card was an Eight of Hearts. He then served himself one more card, then held the both of them up.
"Will pay over nineteen," he said cheerfully, holding up his eighteen he had gotten with the Ten of Clubs.
If Bartimaeus had been a very, very good sport, he would have quite kindly put down his three/twelve without any deception. But as you might expect from somebody as wicked and cool as him, the thought didn't cross his minds. The thought of good sport, anyway.
"Pontoon!" he called delightedly, flipping up his Ace on the table.
Balderdash! I mean, Balderdash III nodded politely. "I'm sure that is true, Sir. But if you don't mind, could you let me check that?"
"Mr Leonard Chim-Chim Raspberry Blasphemy XXIII!" Bartimaeus exclaimed as if burnt. "How could you imply such a thing! I'm as innocent as the road kill remains of a kangaroo!" Which, as it happens, are not very innocent at all.
"Then there is no trouble showing me," Leonard Charles Wildberry Balderdash III pointed out, never losing his calm face.
Bartimaeus sighed as if he did not understand why he went through such misunderstanding, and showed his face down card. A Ten of Hearts.
/Instant Replay!\
Bartimaeus checked his card, and his face rose in what could be interpreted as high elation, but was actually incredible dissatisfaction. He had ended up with a Two of Hearts, which is actually pretty useful in a game of Hearts, but not particularly so here. He scowled, which is to say he made a big smile, then put on an innocent act, which is to say he smiled eerily, and sat.
/Return to scene!\
"Hey," said Kitty— Whoops, went back too far. "Do you realize you just had a flashback in a flashback?"
"Just shut up and watch," said Bartimaeus, tossing some popcorn into his mouth.
"This isn't explaining anything," said Mr Tipple politely, so as to not cause any offence.
"Yeah!" Mr Buttons shockingly agreed. "STOP WASTING MY TIME AND HURRY UP!"
"Just wait a bit longer," said Bartimaeus patiently. "The best part is yet to come. Hah! Here it comes!"
(!-- flashbackmode.vr5 --!)
destinationday-5/1100—1200
(BR)
(CENTER) (HEADING1) /Back on the (B) RIGHT (/B) scene\ (/HEADING1) (/CENTER)
Ahem. Sorry about that. Machine crashed. Damn version 5. At least the 4 would autosave every three minutes! A little impractical at times, yeah, but better to be safe than . . . sorry. Let's go.
/Back on the RIGHT scene\
"Er, well, that seems to be in order!" said Leonard. His composure seemed unshaken. "That makes you the dealer now, and you get my two items. Well done."
"Yeah, well, it was mostly due to luck," said Bartimaeus modestly. "As well as my awesome skillz." Luck as in he just so happened to be a djinni, capable of using mind tricks and manipulation of the first Plane. I think.
"Well then, you get the deck," Charles handed over the cards in a somewhat stiff way, "And Mr Leonard IV, and my whistle. You're winning already, Sir."
"Hah, of no surprise," said Bartimaeus smugly, taking the bear and whistle. "Wait a moment, you named you bear after yourself?"
"No," said Wildberry, as if affronted. "His full name is Mr Leonard Harrison Zhujiang Gooseberry-and-Cream Balderdash Simons! Harrison is my grandfather's name, Zhujiang my favourite river and Simons is from my mother's side!"
"And Gooseberry-and-Cream?"
"My favourite lip gloss flavour!"
". . . Right . . ." said Bartimaeus, feeling slightly worried. The gentleman seemed very intense about his bear. Best if he just played on.
"Alright, you want to cut the deck? No?" he said quickly. "Then let's start! Round Two, where I am already winning!"
He dealt himself the King of Spades, which is a very tricky card to get rid of in Hearts if you're worried about getting the dreaded QUEEN OF SPADES, but is pretty OK in this game. Then he gave two cards to Balderdash. He nodded, and asked for one more. Then he checked his cards, considered, asked for another, and laid down his— no, he paused, and asked for one more, then sat.
Isn't this match just thrilling? Oh boy, I've not had so much fun since I sat in front of a computer, staring at a Writer's Block, then decided to start a parody story for the heck of it. Not that this has anything to do with this story. Don't mind me, just read on.
Bartimaeus drew out his own card, glanced at it, and considered giving his opponent a chance in the name of good sportsmanship. Then forgot about it.
"Whoo! Pontoon again!" he cheered, holding up the smudged Ace of Diamonds. "Eat that Strawberry! I win! Now you have to—"
"But you haven't even checked mine," said Leonard Charles Wildberry Balderdash III, not one trace of frustration or the like.
"Hah! That doesn't matter!" cried Bartimaeus triumphantly. "I have Pontoon, and nothing can beat that—!"
"Except for a hand of five cards totalling 21 or less," pointed out Leonard. "I win this round. I'll take back my whistle, thanks."
Bartimaeus gaped at the neat line of the Two, Three, Four, Five and Six of Diamonds Charles had just thrown across the table. The whistle seemed to spirit itself into his waiting hand, which returned to his pocket, then returned to the table in time to find a glass of wine and carry it up to the lips.
"Round Three!" said Wildberry cheerfully. "Only two more to go, and you're still winning, Mr Djinni Sir."
Bartimaeus gave up on cheating in that round, settling for getting a measly eighteen from his three cards (a nine, three and a six, if you're interested. Which you're likely not). He lost to Balderdash's nineteen, and ended up losing his Ptolemy plushie for some reason.
"Aw, oo's a kwute widdle Egyptian boy? Oo's a kwute widdle Tolly?" Leonard Charles Wildberry Balderdash III cooed. "Anyway! Round Four! And I'm winning now!"
Bartimaeus grit his teeth, and put down his card. It was a Seven of Hearts, and I am not going to mention its use in the game of Hearts because it is not all that important.
He then passed three cards to Leonard after a period of 'umming' and 'ahhing'.
Getting three pontoons in a row is a terribly small chance involving many multiplications that involve many different mathematical formulas I can't remember, so he can forget that. Five under 21 is a possibility, but since he had a seven, that gave him another possibility. Three sevens.
Three sevens was the ultimate draw. It would beat 21, pontoon and five 21 and under. And so, it was only a simple matter of drawing any two more cards and changing their image too.
So, in self-satisfaction, Bartimaeus drew himself two cards he didn't even look at. Then he luxuriously laid his three cards on the table and leaned back in his chair.
"I win," he said lazily, waving a hand in the air and killing a fly. "Pay up, mate."
There was silence from Charles's end. Bartimaeus sat up to admonish him with an impressive monologue detailing his fair right as a free entity using many long and delicious words, but was stopped by Wildberry's weird little smile.
"Well, you certainly have been lucky," he said, his words utterly calm. "Two Pontoons in two turns. And now you have another good hand. My, my, you must have good stars today."
"Um, technically I was never born under any stars," said Bartimaeus nervously. The man was even creeping him out.
"But of course, Mr Demon," said Leonard Charles Wildberry Balderdash-Simons III smoothly. "After all, what is the chance of getting three sevens when I happen to have three of my own?" He flipped his hand in front of Bartimaeus, who stared at the Sevens of Diamonds, Spades and Clubs.
"And, while on the subject, how you could have gotten three Sevens of Hearts?" Bartimaeus looked at his own cards, following the eerie man's serene point. He realized with a sinking feeling that he had forgotten to change the suits of his card coverings, and had ended up with a hand of three diabolical Sevens of Hearts.
"Damn," stated the djinni. Then he smiled his winning smile, put down his hand, and bolted. With Mr Leonard Harrison Zhujiang Gooseberry-and-Cream Balderdash Simons.
"Hey!" exclaimed Leonard, but Bartimaeus had upset the table in his face.
"Nyah-nyah! Sucker!" called back Bartimaeus, then halted. "Wait, that isn't classy enough. Um, er . . ." he paused for a moment in though.
"Um, hard luck, pilgrim! No, no," Charles had knocked the table 25 metres away in growing annoyance. "Er, ah . . . ah-ha! All your hopes have been dashed, mortal! Suffer like your forefathers! Bye-bye— I mean, farewell, Mud Crawler!"
Finally finding an insult he was happy with (I don't think it's as good as the real stuff, but this is a parody, after all), Bartimaeus turned to the hills alive with freedom! No, that did not come from a musical. Really. I swear.
Anyway, Bartimaeus turned to make a heroic dash for his life, but came face-to-face with the farmer trio that he had sent flying just a little while ago. They weren't exactly frothing with rage, but they weren't moving for him. Wildberry stalked up behind him, successfully trapping the djinni.
"Er, well, Mr Aries Henry Blueberry Rubbish XIII!" Bartimaeus tried to sound jovial. "What a surprise! Surely you won't hold a grudge for that unfortunate match!"
"I don't like cheaters," said the creepy Balderdash.
"It wasn't cheating, it was . . . it was . . . there should be a Latin or French word for it . . ." Bartimaeus said weakly, searching his memory banks for a posh word to rectify this situation.
"We don't like cheaters. I don't like those that steal part of my childhood." Mr Lion King Elizabeth Erdeberry Nonsense the who-cares-who-he-is-he-is-so-damned-scary pulled out his whistle with a flourish usually reserved for weapons of execution. "And you shall play a Penalty Game ala a character in a manga series that became an anime series that lost certain elements to make it acceptable for an age group the creator never originally intended. Now!"
He blew a puff on the whistle, which made an embarrassing squawk that brought to mind a person with congested nasal passages being kicked in the stomach. Bartimaeus fell into a protective crouching position when Leopard Edward Bluk Berry Baloney began the flourish, but stood back up after the whistle that could not possibly ever herald something dangerous that would connect to his position five days later.
"Hah! Now, I admit, I was a little regretful," said the djinni, his tone indicating he never did. "But now I don't think I should even—"
He was knocked down in a rush of black feathers.
"OK, what was—?"
Another flurry of feathers descended upon him, then dispersed.
"Hey, what were you trying to—" Bartimaeus cut his own self off. Perched on every available perching thing, except the farmers, were crows. Big crows, big crows, even bigger crows, some small ones that I suspect were only there to make the big crows look bigger, crows. Everywhere. And Mr Pertaining-to-lion's-spirit Name-of-a-Monarch Member-of-the-berry-family An-event-that-seems-ridiculous, the third of this name, was in control of them.
"My assistants will judge you," he said calmly, not a feather nor accident on his expensive coat. "And if they find you worthy, you will be pecked to an inch of your life, then leave you alone. If not, you will have to suffer their decree."
"Hey, don't I get a—" Bartimaeus's ever so intelligent speech was cut off again by every crow that had ever lived in the shire area (including the spirits of some dead ones that were more there to freak the onlookers out) diving upon him. His following comments included: "EW!" "Gross!" "GET AWAY FROM ME!" and lots and lots of swear words.
After about 8 minutes and 53 seconds (Leonard was being nice this time), the birds returned, leaving the battered and dirty Bartimaeus face down in the dirt. One bird swooped above Charles, dropping (nothing dirty) down the lavender teddy bear that had miraculously escaped being turned into something all too easily mistaken for a fancy dessert.
"Well?" Wildberry asked the crows as if addressing a crowd of loyal bloodthirsty followers (which is pretty similar, but they were hungry for eyeballs), tucking the bear with the long name in a pocket. "What do you think?"
There was a unanimous 'CAW!' from them all, which obviously meant something to him.
"Really? So soon?" Balderdash seemed slightly surprised, but shrugged. "Your decree then."
The crows all turned their beady eyes on the poor beaten entity, then glanced at the 'Ob' trio. They nodded, instantly understanding the way such characters do.
They picked up Bartimaeus, who hung limply, and dragged him to the cornfield. They got two poles, four long nails, straw, matches and binding. One bound Bartimaeus, dropped the straw around him, another got the nails, the other made a cross . . .
"Hey, what are those other two nails for?" Cob asked Rob, who had got them.
"Oops, I must have miscounted," shrugged Rob. "What the matches for, Bob?"
"Lighting my cigarette," said Bob, doing so. "Anyway, anyone got a hat?"
"Right here!" Cob gave him his own hat, which had never fitted his hair.
"Use a lot of straw, it'll make him itchy," said Rob, rubbing Bartimaeus's stone skin with a handful, then getting out some superglue and smearing around his shoulders and . . . other places.
"Right! Let's haul him up, boys!" Bob grabbed the djinni and, with the help of the others, raised the cross with their new scarecrow.
"That'll teach him to cheat," Leonard Charles Wildberry Balderdash III said demurely.
"Right, boss!" chorused the farmer trio.
"Next time, he won't get caught . . ."
/Back to the 'present' time\
"All in all, not a good choice for me," said Bartimaeus disapprovingly. "I got all the screen time, yeah, but the ending wasn't . . . hey, aren't you listening?"
Kitty was laying all curled up cutely on the ground, cuddling Mr Tipple with Mr Buttons on her outstretched hand. Upon being kicked sharply in the ribs, she woke up with a shock, and yawned.
"Yeah, so what? If you hadn't been such a smart arse in the first place, you wouldn't have gotten into that mess," she said, standing up. "Well, too bad for you."
"Wait!" Bartimaeus leapt at her legs, nearly knocking the poor child over, and knocking the projector down into a wet muddy ditch. THAT WAS EXPENSIVE YOU LITTLE TURD!
"Sorry. Anyway, I can't stand being here," Bartimaeus said, losing his cool composure that had won so many fans for life that would likely be after my blood for putting the poor guy through this. "I'm free, but I make so many stupid decisions! And as you are the only one in this whole damn land that speaks without breathing in helium first, you must help me!"
"Look, I've got to go to the Wizard to get myself home," Kitty said, as patiently as she could be after watching a very, very long and improperly placed flashback. "I don't need a bunch of hanger-ons to make the trip longer! I don't care if this is a parody or not, I can do this fine by myself."
"I can make it worth your while!" the djinni said desperately. "Come on, my conversations are worth twice as those of Harvard professors!" Not that it is a challenge. Wait, that wasn't made on experience. It's just like a bland recycled piece of opinion used to make up extra words. Wait, please don't go, I'LL MAKE IT UP TO YOU! I'M SORRY!
"No, I am not making an example of well-bred love-for-all-of-God's-creatures Commoner from myself! Get lost!" Kitty snapped.
"Fine," said Bartimaeus spitefully. "I'll go by myself. I don't need some human grub worm to help my high entity self to some solution to my problem."
"Donald, cut the lights." The sun instantly dimmed, showing itself to be a poor sphere made of many light bulbs. Prompter Anna strode onto scene, dressed again in dark clothes. She stood in the middle of attention, glaring at djinni, human and sock puppets.
"Look," she said crisply. "We have a parody to run, and if you don't like it, tough. So unless you want your semblance of free-will withdrawn, stick to the script."
"No way!" said Kitty, Bartimaeus and Mr Buttons.
"I refuse to join with a demon!" said Kitty firmly.
"I refuse to join with a human!" said Bartimaeus in the same way, but cooler.
Stick to the script you ungrateful—
"And you," said Anna, turning to me (so she wasn't a self insertion, by the—)
"Shut up! You've got to keep these characters in line better!" Anna told me, sternly. "If you can't control a bunch of pre-made characters, what makes you think you can control your own?"
Hey! Who told you I've been having problems with my characters?
"The fact that you are making a parody fanfic instead of working on it gives me a clue," Anna said dryly. "Now, all get back to work, or I'll have to haul you off with this!"
She pulled out a long handled hook with lumps all down its length and barbs in the hook end threateningly. We all get the point.
"Thank you. Lights, Donald. And for Lord's sake, fix that sandbag rope, Tony!" she stride off scene, and the sun comes back on.
"Alright," sighed Kitty. "You can come with me to the Wizard to see if he can get you some brains."
"Brains?" exclaimed Bartimaeus. "I've already got brains!"
Threatening hook-bringing sound from offstage
"I know, I know. This will all work out!" Bartimaeus shot at Anna. "What I mean is, I don't need any more brains. I just want to lose some."
"Eh?" went Kitty, taken back. Anna ran off to locate the script to check this.
"See, if I hadn't been so smart, I wouldn't have felt the need to prove it," Bartimaeus explained, standing up. "And if I wasn't smart at all, I wouldn't bother at all about morals and inhibitions, so I would have more fun. So, I'll see if the Wizard guy can remove my brains. Some of it, anyway."
"But . . . but . . . Kitty flustered. "How do you know he takes brains away?"
"Well, he's got to have a supplier, right?" Bartimaeus pointed out. "Should be no problem at all."
"Um, do you think that's right?" asked Kitty uncertainly.
"See! Exactly!" Bartimaeus exclaimed. "If I had a little less brains, I would never have to worry about that! I could decimate villages without a care! Destroy families without concern! I could make myself the most loathed and feared entity in the universe! And if I never had a brain!"
Kitty glanced from side to side as the awkward silence lengthened. Bartimaeus was still in his powerful pose like hoping for some fanart.
"Er, aren't you going to sing?" Kitty asked.
"What? No way!" shouted Bartimaeus. "An almighty entity like myself? Never!"
"Well . . . er . . . OK, said Kitty hesitantly. "Don't suppose you've ever heard of the Resistance . . ?"
"Resistance?" repeated Bartimaeus. "Like, a secret organization in an enemy-occupied country working to maintain hostilities unofficially after a formal capitulation?"
"Yes! I, uh, think," said Kitty eagerly and unsurely in turn.
"Yeah, but I'll forget that when I'm stupid," shrugged Bartimaeus. "So, which way is Pyrite City? Never mind! If we find it, I'll get my brains taken away. If not, I never needed them taken away anyway! Come on!"
And, with the air of swift writing, they walked off into the three o'clock sunset.
"And cut!" called Anna, as the human, djinni and sock puppets walked into a flat background.
"Darn it!" Kitty growled, rubbing her face. "Who does the scheduling here?"
"Me," said Anna, dragging behind her the Hook of Bruised Souls. "And I don't get paid enough."
"That's all for me," said Bartimaeus, putting back on his cloak. "I'm beating it."
"No you're not," Anna stopped him. "You've got to do the disclaimers. I'm going home." With that, she walked off set, and there was the sound of a rapidly awoken motor and its subsequent dash.
"Why do I have to do the disclaimer?" whined Bartimaeus as everyone went home around him.
Aw, please? Pretty please? Pretty please with sugar on top?
"No," stated Bartimaeus. "I've been through enough today, and nothing you can do can make me—"
Oi, Leo buddy! Can I borrow your whistle again?
"OK, OK!" Bartimaeus squawked. "Just give me a moment!"
He checks the script again.
"Right," he said, then took a deep breath, and put on an authoritative voice. "The Author owns none of these: 'The Bartimaeus Trilogy' by Jonathan Stroud (good thing, too. I mean, what could she do with it? Turn it into a cartoon or something?); 'The Wizard of Oz' by L. Frank Baum or its movies (again, would turn it into a cartoon); cows; football teams (that she would never touch, because they're nowhere near close to anime bishounen characters); a manga turned into an anime by 4Kids who censored it like demons and goes by the name of Yu-Gi-Oh (though she'd like to)— and all things connected to it (i.e. the Shadow Realm, 'It's Time to Duel' (that was half its lyrics up there, by the way), Penalty Game; Lewis Carroll's works, including his Jabberwocky (she might parody that next); a llama/alpaca (who cares?); iguanas; ostriches/emus (who cares again?); a magic 8 ball (probably break it); 'Best Loved Demonic Anti-Hero Competition' (I wiped the floor with their anti-stereotypical faces); 'The Day After Tomorrow' (the scenes of book burning made her ill); 'The Best Looking 1st Person Narrating Character Competition'; Anne Rice's Novels (I could wipe the floor with that almighty powerful good-looking soul-searching Vampire Lestat!); Blackjack; 'The Encyclopaedia of Games' by Barb Whiter; 'YMCA' by the Village People; road-kill remains of a dead kangaroo (which STINK); any Chinese Rivers; 'Pokemon' or its Berries; any Bible allusions (if you caught it); Harvard Professors and other stuff."
Bartimaeus took a huge breath again. "Right. Finally. Stupid parody works. I hate this."
Tony passed by, hauling a mass of iguanas on a leash. "You don't mean that, do you, man?" he gasped.
"Of course I do," said Bartimaeus firmly. "These things never work out. If I lie, then may I be struck by lightning!"
A cellophane covered light from above shifts its balance, and comes falling down. It smashes in a craze of electricity and glass, ten metres from where the djinni was standing.
"See!" he said triumphantly. "She just tried a situation pun, based on the similar sounding words 'lightning' and lighting', which she totally—"
A frayed rope snapped, and a sandbag came plummeting down on the djinni's head.
"I'd, like, call that divine retribution," said Tony, leading away the suddenly quiet iguanas.
Thank you all, and good night! Read and review, my lovelies! I SAID READ AND REVIEW, LEST YE WANT TO BE STRUCK BY MY DIVINE RETRIBUTION TOO!
