I would have an opening line, but because I didn't get any suggestions from my competitions, I'm not putting anything up, so there.

Well, I've been busy too.

School started, (it's nasty being a senior. You have to start earlier, leave later, and wear a stupid tie that gets in everything you go) my birthday happened (Happy Birthday to me!), my Slayers TV box set came in, and I've discovered this bunch of old Windows games I've been trying out for the last month or so!

But I must get going. And helping me with the latest reviews is none other than the beautiful, talented, Anna person! Whoo!

Anna: This still doesn't make up for my missed paycheck.

ROI: Hey, it's not my fault . . . that Hrun stole our props . . . that Haruko destroyed our studio . . . that Xelloss and Bartimaeus emptied our entire cosmetics stock between them . . .

Anna: You're not going to do that again. Zoom.

ROI: What?

Anna: Zoom. /Mimes something swooping overhead/

ROI: Pardon?

Anna: That was the sound made by those alternate genre allusions used in the last chapters. Not to mention the use of Japanese . . .

ROI/Laughs nervously/

Anna: And J-Pop. Who knows 'the pillows' anyway?

ROI: They're great! And it was either that, or . . .

Sobakasu

Theme of first season of Ruroni Kenshin

Daikirai datta sobakasu wo chotto

(I touched those hated freckles lightly and sighed)

Hitonadeshite tame iki wo hitotsu

(My "heavy class" love has dissolved clearly)

Hebi ikkyuu no koi wa migoto ni

(Just like a sugarcube.)

ROI: Or . . .

Tachi mukau saki ni kawaita kaze

(No matter how hard this wind)

Hageshiku fuki aretemo

(Tries to push me back)

Jumon no hitotsu mo tonaetanara

(I recite a single spell and)

Watashi no PEESU ni naru

(Set the pace my own way)

ROI: Or—

Anna/Swings the Hook of Bruised Souls/ Let's not get excited now.

ROI: Sorry . . . Couldn't help my— /Is struck with the bad end/

Anna: REVIEWS! NOW!

Reviews for Chapters 1-3

Piratica: (Don't know whether that's from the book by Tanith Lee or not, but I like it anyway.)

ROI: Thanks! That 'young and breakable thing' was a metaphor for being really inexperienced and susceptible to flames and stuff.

Anna: And tendency to procrastinate, break down, go off topic, obsess over books and anime . . .

ROI: Er, right. Anyway, thanks for reading and reviewing! And about the stress balls? I got this really great idea—

Anna: It's gotta go somewhere.

ROI/Ignores her/ This great idea that I have Words of the Day! You know, a particular word or subject to mention in a chapter. Stress balls are mentioned in this chapter, but that won't count because I'm planning on having it in one of the off-tangent chapters I'm planning.

Anna: Basically, once she gets off something vaguely resembling plot and order, she'll go completely nuts and base a chapter on your word.

ROI: Nah! I'll just mention it!

Anna: If you get that far.

ROI: IS $60 A WEEK WORTH ALL THESE PUT-DOWNS!

Reviews for Chapter 5

the Thirteenth Councilor:

ROI: Yeah, sorry about those . . .

Anna: So you should be.

ROI/Mutters/ Will you leave me alone?

Anna: What was that?

ROI/Brightly/ Nothing! Anyway, you like Nathaniel too? Unfortunately, though my imagination supplies me with many uses for that plastic fork (mostly aggressive), it is integral to my plan that I annoy and spite the living daylights out of my characters.

Anna: What she means is: She is so drained of inspiration she decided to insult every lover of good narration and character design and pass it off as funny.

ROI/Squeezes eyes shut and clenches fists/

Anna: You have my complete permission to stab her to death with your—

RIO: RETRIBUTION!

/Crows of all sizes, mostly big, explode from thing air, and blow Anna away in a rush of wings/

ROI: Thanks, guys. By the way, although I do think Jane Farrar is a bit of a pain, all I really needed was a scapegoat, and somebody to rigorously cut down to size. But I could read a sympathetic fic . . . if only to parody some time in the future.

Anna/Limping up/ See, I told you she had no original—

ROI: SLAY!

/Crows repeat action, only longer/

ROI: She'll be OK. By the way, I was searching for the origin of your Penname. I wrote it down in my little notebook I carry everywhere, I checked two major Library systems, and couldn't find one mention. Then I realized, to my embarrassment, that I had spelt the author's name wrong. It is Flavia Bujor, not Flavia Bigor. Yeah, my handwriting's bad.

Ah, and the mouthpiece on a side-blown flute is generally an extension of the length of the instrument. My bent mouthpiece, deliberately bent to accommodate for my short arms, has this length curve around parallel to the body. You're only inflicted with a brass section? (The sax is technically woodwind, but anyway.) Can we swap some of our saxes for your trumpets? We're running low.

So, now comes the problem. I've already used up the three main characters, where am I going to dredge up the next? That was the inspiration for my X part series . . .

Well, read on and see.


Chapter Six: If I Never Had . . .

Hmm . . .

Chapter 6: If I Only Had a . . .

No . . .

Chap 6: How Dorothy—

No, Kitty—

How Kitty Helped the Cowardly Lion—

Gah. Damn it.

The black rolling chair squeaking crazily with every fidget, the unidentifiable girl took her hands off the keyboard and stared at the row of books in front of her.

Sighing, she tried to dredge about in her mind a muse or inspiration of any sorts. Something to converse with. But with the very nature of her story, any canon characters were unable (or unwilling) to arrive to help. Anyone from another story or genre would be useless too. They would only warp the plot with their influence. Well, the only ones she could consider would.

So she basically stared at air while mp3s and midis played from her headphones.

A problem well stated is a problem half solved.

She humphed to herself. "I ask for help and I get a proverb?" she muttered mentally to herself.

You either get it, or you don't.

"Get out of my head."

The temptation to take a break and do something else (likely read while listening to music) was barely suppressed, when the presence of two Original Characters caught her attention.

"Hello there."

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING!"

How the sock puppets could move around and have themselves attached to her hands was a mystery better left untouched, but there they were. The kindly mismatched eyes of Mr Tipples glinted with strange deceptive intelligence and the eyes of Mr Buttons . . . were fluff.

"Having some trouble?" Mr Tipples inquired politely.

"CAUSE YOU'RE GUNNA HAVE A HELL OF A LOT MORE, NOW!" Mr Buttons said at what could be a loud level, but due to the strange nature of their presence didn't cause anyone to come up and check. Dinner was cooking anyway.

The authoress known here as Rune-of-Iormangand— ROI — nudged down her headphones.

"Yeah," she said. "Pretty much."

"MAY YOU SUFFER IN YOUR INSECURITY!" shouted Mr Buttons.

"And what might this be?" asked Mr Tipples.

ROI shrugged.

"The next chapter is practically impossible. Not only to I not have a copy of a movie to compare with, I'm not sure of which character to, um, actually use as the Cowardly Lion. Not conclusively enough anyway."

"I see . . ." mused Mr Tipples.

"HAH!" exclaimed Mr Buttons. "I knew it! Your inexperience and poor planning and no talent has finally caught up with you! YOU SUCK, NEWT!"

"Newt?"

"Acronym in Harry Potter. Anyway, so this is your problem? You don't know what to do or how to do it?"

"Yeah . . ." the authoress looked away from the puppets in embarrassment. "Always been my fall down."

"AND YOU'RE GRAMMAR STINKS TOO!"

"IT'S DIALOGUE! I CAN USE STYLIZED GRAMMAR IF I WANT!" shouted back the author.

"So it's a search for the Cowardly Lion . . ." mused Mr Tipples.

ROI was trying to stuff Mr Buttons in a drawer, with her hand still inside.

"Where in the world is the Cowardly Lion . . ." murmured the good sock puppet.

"Hah! I've designed such threats before!"

"Who is the Cowardly Lion . . ." repeated Mr Tipples.

"I said I don't know yet!" said ROI testily. "Things happened, stuff changed, characters switched places. I've thought for ages, and I don't—"

"Where in the world is the Cowardly Lion!" Mr Tipples shouted triumphantly.

"I said I don't—"

"Wait, please," Mr Tipples begged. "I have an idea." For a sock puppet, he was extraordinarily gifted.

ROI pauses long enough for Mr Buttons to haul his head from the drawer, panting horribly.

"You keep sugar packets in there?"

"Here we have perfect scenario for a deviation from the parody!" explained Mr Tipples enthusiastically. "An entire chapter dedicated to your study of particular characters and how they would fit the suit for the Cowardly Lion!"

"At size M? It would have to a damn fat one," said Mr Buttons.

"Hey! There's another one!" said ROI, mentally scribbling that down. "But, might the readers get impatient?"

"This is your soul's expression. It leaves you free from others' opinions," said Mr Tipples serenely. "As they are likewise free to hold their own opinions too."

"THEY WOULD BUTCHER YOU LIKE THE LIZARD YOU ARE!" Mr Buttons spat back in opposition.

"Would he be scared of a magnetized pin holder?" asked ROI.

"If it was bright yellow, maybe. Anyway, you can write a list of all your possible characters, and then weave a plot to get them to interact somehow with the current leading characters," Mr Tipples suggested. "And you could use—"

"Thanks," ROI swept the headphones over her ears, changed play list, and turned up the volume. "That's all I need."

"You're welcome," said Mr Tipples kindly.

"You will crash and burn!" screamed Mr Buttons. "AND USE AN UN-ERGONOMICALLY DESIGNED KEYBOARD!"

And so, the chapter progressed.

Where in the world is the Cowardly Lion?

It was an atmosphere of picturesque beauty. The sun was gently shining, outlining the perfectly leaf green leaves with a golden aura. Birds with sweet twinkly voices tweeted elevator music in time to the babbling of the brook.

Of course, you know what must happen next.

"We're lost."

"Maybe."

"We are lost!"

"Maybe!"

"I'm telling you, we are lost!"

"I KNOW!"

A djinni and a magician team will never catch on. Bartimaeus and Nathaniel had, after a moment of blinking in the dawn light twenty minutes ago, looked at each other, and declared their mistake.

There are no fruit in these trees, but politely phrased metaphors.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, YOU INSANE DUGONG!"

Dugong? Oh, sorry. I mean, I'm not hinting at anything. That last paragraph could have been misinterpreted to something . . . weird. Although it wouldn't matter to me, I'm an experienced reader of—

"SHUT UP! DEAR GOD, MY EARS!"

LOOK, IT'S A PERFECTLY RESPECTABLE GENRE! YOU DON'T HAVE TO READ IF YOU DON'T—

"Ahem," interjected Mr Tipples politely. "That topic is better discussed elsewhere among intellectual equals, but we do have a fanfic to get on with."

Right.

"No, you're a— a— dugong." Dugong?

Anyway, the relationship between Bartimaeus and Nathaniel was clear. I mean, ngh . . .

We'll have the dialogue explain. DAMN TWISTED ENGLISH LANGUAGE!

"I shouldn't have let you come. Heck, I shouldn't be here. I'm perfectly capable of walking to Pyrite City and seeing the Like Grand and Powerful Wizard of Oz."

"It's 'Ahz', and I don't know why I came. I could have had my master get me to Pyrite City in a limo on a meaningless errand. I could have caught a hay cart. Anything would be better than traveling with a demon."

Kitty sighed to herself as the two bickered like . . . bickering things. Even she was feeling that she would have preferred walking to Pyrite City on her own, even if there were lions and tigers and bears.

"Oh, my!" Mr Tipples interrupted with great timing. "I could have sworn we'd passed those trees before!"

"No, you're a tree," said Mr Buttons grumpily, because no-one listened to him any more. Hah!

"Stupid dugong!"

WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?

"And I thought that clearing was just like the one I slept in," Kitty added.

"And I might be wrong—"

"No, you're a wrong— I mean, you're—"

"But maybe we are circling our original location."

"Dugong!"

"You mean we're walking in circles?" Kitty asked.

She realized there was a sudden silence.

"What are you doing?" asked Nathaniel.

"You're not talking to those sock puppets, are you?" asked Bartimaeus suspiciously.

"So what if I am?" asked Kitty defensively.

"To those same puppets that sent the Malicious Magician of the West mad and running only a chapter ago?"

"Oh. Um, in that case, no."

"Good," nodded Bartimaeus, more from the satisfaction that he got somebody to listen to him rather than saving a girl's sanity.

"Thanks," said Kitty, and they walked on.

Nathaniel and Bartimaeus were just about to get a good argument going when . . .

"And no, I don't think that every game has to end with something suspiciously futuristic. That was only for— look, it's foreshadowing— no, I am not foreshadowing. That was only for two of the . . . two of the . . ."

She trailed off as she spotted the looks the magician and djinni were giving her.

"All I know is that those sock puppets are spooky and weird," stated Bartimaeus.

"Spooky and weird?" repeated Nathaniel incredulously. "What would a djinni find 'spooky and weird?'"

"No, Mr Buttons, he is not— well, he is a bit weird, but not spooky," Kitty said to the weird and spooky sock puppets.

They stared at her again.

"Um, look. They're just sock puppets, they stand in for Toto, it's nothing crazy," Kitty said soothingly to the Scarecrow, Tin Man and various readers. "And it just adds to the whole mystery."

"Well, I guess—" began Nathaniel.

"—Because they take place in two different lands with two different storylines, and I'm not sure it even follows chronologically."

"Alright, stop right there. They are obviously well placed enemy weapons of mental influence," stated Nathaniel authoritatively. "Hold out your arms."

"Gee, that's nice, for a magician . . ." started Bartimaeus, fully aware something was coming up to contradict that statement and lead on to another argument.

". . . Obviously placed on you by the Malicious Magician . . ."

"It's coming . . ." murmured Bartimaeus.

"To get to me."

"Hah!" Bartimaeus exclaimed. "Such arrogance is typical of the hard hearted magicians! As if one of such power and statue, although one of you and still hated by spirits such as me is also held in higher importance, would ever consider you to be a— whoa!"

It is such a shame that such an argument promising to turn into a real delicious read of contradictions and funny words and girly slaps was interrupted just then. But do not fear, for I am sure that another one of equal if not better potential will turn up over and over again, until you are sick with my writing, and want to hunt me down with a pitchfork, maple syrup and pillow—

":Cough:Cough: Whoa!"

—"Oh, no!" I would shout, and try to get away. "Pin her on the pitchfork!" you would cry. "No!" I would cry. "Make her drink pure maple syrup!" you would call. "No!" I would cry again. "That will rot my teeth!" "Make her sit on the comfy pillows!" you would cry. "No!"—

"Ahem, Whoa!"

—I would cry, this now becoming repetitive. "It has lace and a flower—"

"I said: WHOA!"

Right, right. The source of the whoa?

"Whoa! It's like this huge city just popped out of nowhere!"

I can write my own descriptions, thanks!

Anyway, coming so suddenly out of the trees it could be thought it was a hurriedly put plot point, but you'd be wrong! You see, this was the recently discovered city of Fluoride!

"Didn't there use to be a river here somewhere? Just after where Dorothy met the Cowardly Lion?" Nathaniel questioned.

Yes! Do you see the connection?

"I'm supposed to be the Scarecrow. Of course I don't," snapped Bartimaeus.

Fluoride City! Built around the fairly average Munchkin River, it is a sprawling mass of all types of creatures, from the peace-loving Munchkins (in the minority) to the somewhat vicious Winkles, and to the conveniently free djinn and curiously placed magicians. It is said that crime stops in Fluoride City, and it does so to catch its breath!

"Great," said Kitty, less than enthusiastic about my laboriously constructed description.

"What does this have to do with anything?" asked Nathaniel to the general surroundings, which includes me.

And in my own mysterious way, I answer . . .

"YOU!"

All main characters turn their heads to the source of the accusation.

"YOU!"

"Me?" went Kitty.

"YOU!"

"You must be mistaken," said Nathaniel.

"YOU!"

"Hah!" sneered Bartimaeus. "You probably just offended an old ancient taboo that states that anyone wearing a suit more than two sizes too small must be chopped into little pieces and stewed!"

And because we know how innocent the rest are—

"It was the dugong! DUGONG!"

WHY ARE YOU CALLING ME THAT!

—"You evil little beast of oppression and greed!"

Bartimaeus nodded towards Nathaniel.

"You sad little example of a cruel world!"

Bartimaeus nodded towards Kitty.

"You little only example of the sirenian genus dugong!"

Hey! Where did that come from?

"You ugly gargoyle!"

Bartimaeus tried pathetically to load this off on either the Dorothy or the Author (he would be sorry . . .), but the accusatory person, backed up by the eight spear pointers (didn't I just say twelve? Some of them are holding two), grasped hold of a handful of super-glued straw and dragged him into the city.

"Well, that's a shame," shrugged Nathaniel, turning around.

"Great! I have to get stuck with the magician!" grumbled Kitty.

She paused for five seconds.

"Whatever."

She turned and followed.

"Halt!" called out one of the spear pointers (just holding one).

"Those could be conspirators!" called out another (he was holding three).

"Better get them all, just to be safe," said another, holding no spears (but a massively decked out military-designed gun, which could fire 25 bullets in three seconds, fit three bayonets, and come in a variety of pleasant pastel colours (this model was blue).)

"You'll never get me alive!" screamed Mr Buttons.

"We haven't done anything," said Mr Tipples calmly.

"—And make sure the one with multiple personalities is put in one cell. We already had a strike about overcrowding in our branch," ordered the "YOU!" man.

"Look, there's obviously been a mistake," stated Nathaniel, holding out his hands in a polite yet authoritative way. "If you could just—"

/Bonk/

"Thanks," said Kitty, looking over the magician who just had a length of spear bent around his head. "Now, if you could just get the demon—"

/Bonk/

"You know, we do have handcuffs," commented the gun holder.

"DO YOU WANT TO STOP ME! ARE YOU REPRESSING ME!" screamed the single spear holder with an inferiority complex.

"Right! The outline, boys!"

"I think it was a little fatter there."

"No you idiot, now you're making it look stupid."

"Well, I hardly think it was likely to have three wrists!"

The captain of the team (the 'YOU!' guy) strode up, dragging an unenthusiastic Bartimaeus behind him.

"Right!" he said, giving the djinni a shake. "Identify this person!"

Bartimaeus didn't reply.

"Now, now, tight lips won't help anything. I am asking you like an equal."

Bartimaeus remained stoically silent.

"Man to spirit, come on."

No reply.

"This won't make it easier for the either of us. Just tell us all you know, and we'll see to give you the best justice we can."

"What? My word not good enough for you? You know, I am starting to use patience with you!" he seized the gargoyle by his collarbone. "Eh? ANSWER ME, DAMN YOU!"

"Um, you know, boss?" ventured the 'little fatter' guy. "Maybe he would, like, be more responsive if you spoke on a level like his." He paused for a moment. "Bet it would be better if he was conscious too, sir."

"SECURE!" came a sudden shout, as Nathaniel jerked up from staff-induced rest. "SAFE! SECRET! Yes, I'm OK now!"

He got shakily to his feet from his previous position. Dumped on the ground.

"Ah! One of the possible collaborators!" said the "YOU!" man. "Maybe you can shed some light on this situation?"

"Hmm . . ." mused Nathaniel, inspecting the finished chalk outline. "Yes . . ."

"Yeah?" went the "YOU!" guy.

"Yeah . . ."

"Well?"

"It's obviously . . ."

"Yes?"

"Or it could be . . ."

"No?"

"I think it could be . . ."

"YES?"

"A Greater Armed Legendary Amazonian Mite!"

". . . What?"

"Extremely enlarged, of course. One of my predecessors of my name— my new one, in an alternate universe, of course— catalogued a great deal of this class. Not very relevant, though. What's it supposed to be?"

"THE BEST SONG IN THE WORLD!" screamed Bartimaeus in his sleep, then fell silent again.

The one who bestowed the three wrists burst into tears.

"This is the outline of a victim in an incredible crime," said the "YOU!" man, striking a self-important pose. "And it is my mission to discover who this unfortunate person is, why they have been targeted so, and where they are now!"

"Pardon?" said Nathaniel, raising a puzzled eyebrow. "Did you say—"

"PLAAAY THE BEST SOOONG IN THE WORLD, OR I'LL EAT YOUR SOULS!"

"—'Where they are now'?" Nathaniel continued, ignoring the straw-y demon.

"Yes, of course," said the captain and "YOU!" guy. "We need to determine it is safe."

"Well, it could already be, in a manner of speaking," said Nathaniel, gesturing towards the outline, which at the certain angle, in a certain light, wearing a particular pair of shades after eating a particular kitchen cupboard poison could look like a running dog (The three wrists guy lets out a choking sob), but was what meant to be someone after falling off a high place.

"Because wouldn't it be dead?"

"Dead? Dead?" repeated the "YOU!" man. "What do you mean?"

"The chalk outline, the incredibly high building above us, the, um, atmosphere of the whole area? Would this lead to murder or something?" Nathaniel hazarded a typical long-winded magician's guess (can I fake a Bartimaeus, or can I fake a Bartimaeus?).

The captain guy paused for a moment.

"WHAAAT? DO YOU HAPPEN TO BE AN OFFICER, OR ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME MY JOB!" he demanded, screaming so close to Nathaniel's face even Jessica Whitwell would twitch.

Nathaniel nearly knocked over a wall, but he regained his composure quickly, just in time to get nearly blown over again.

"WELL, YA HEAR ME, BUDDY? I DON'T WANT YOU BLOODY PRODIGY TYPES COME WALTZING AROUND WITH YOUR 'OOO! LOOK AT ME, I'M A BLOODY CHILD GENIUS! I KNOW BETTER THAN ME ELDERS 'COS THEY'RE SO OLD!' YOU KNOW WHAT I THINK? I THINK—"

"No, Mr Buttons, there are NO PINCUSHIONS!"

Now Kitty was awake.

"And the rest of the gang is awake!" announced the guy who had produced the loud interjection last time. "So, now, tell us: who is the victim, and what sufferance did it give you to make it like so?"

"Huh?"

"Maybe you know?"

"Who?"

"Alright, mate, you look like the smart one. Can you be of help?"

"No! I identify you as an opposite and . . . you . . . be . . . you be stupid!"

"Nay. We are but djinn, ROCK!"

"Uh, I think we might, uh, need to take them back to base, boss," suggested the 'little fatter' guy.

"Look, it's like unique, OK? Abstract! Sorta surrealist! Dalí never had this problem!"

"Well, if you want to be boss, fine. But if after two weeks of duty some crackpot criminal mastermind follows you home, hides in you car and breaks you legs and stabs you in the eyes with a pen, don't come running and crying to me!" said the captain self-importantly.

"Actually, I believe Dalí had this unsuitable for a PG fic obsession, which sort of marred his genius," said Mr Tipples. "Apart from that, he turned out fine, apart from anti-social behaviour."

"Um, boss, I think that's physically impossible . . ."

"At least Dalí never had to chop off his ear like them stinking post-impressionist people!"

"I'll tell you what's physically impossible and what isn't! Now cart off these kids to the loony bin and bring them to me!"

"Only Van Gogh did that, and it was a token of love . . . although he turned out strange too."

"There's three conversations going and they don't make sense!" Kitty sighed to her left-out self.

"Very well!" Mr "YOU!" shouted over the top of all the shouting. "We will take you back to base, as long as Mr I-Point-Things-Out-to-the-Rest-Of-You has nothing more to say!"

"Yes, sir," said Mr I-Point-Things-Out etc. etc. moodily.

"MONET AND YOUR FANCY SCHMANCY BRUSH STROKES! SEURAT AND YOUR POINTILLISM! PICASSO AND YOUR CRAZY GENRE CHANGES!"

And now, for a crazy genre change!

High above the city streets, something lurks. Something lurks like the thing that lurked at the time that lurking was high form of non-paint based art.

It was a red against the complementary green of middle class. Glazed and fired besides the greenware of society. Fauvism next to Renaissance in the . . . why am I using so many damn art references?

Anyway, it was impossible to say it gloated. It would be impossible to say was arrogant. It would be impossible to say, because that would be too nice to the creature, and downright insulting to multi-billionaires and conmen.

In fact, it didn't even notice the police and magician and boot-wearing girl. It registered the loss of its target with a slightest sliver of disappointment and the greatest dollop of dark glee. It loved a chase.

See, I can write seriously sometimes!

Yes, the City Watch! Their entire purpose in one story is to arrive late to a scene of crime and wonder about it, then accidentally stumble upon a hero who is trying to solve the whole thing but is misunderstood, so they then get beaten senseless by him to protect them or slaughtered by the bad guy to bestow upon the hero an almighty . . .

Wait, Terry Pratchett's already done that. Hang on a sec.

Yes, the Police Force of Fluoride City (doesn't sound as classic . . .)! Their grip upon crime is like Dracula's hold on vampire clichés. They arrive late to the crime if they finish up in time. The uniform is naturally dark so they don't have to change after duty. Heck, even their wage is robbery.

But, anyway, they think they're the laws on these streets and being the ones with legal access to weapons, who will complain? Well, just the mob boss, but he doesn't count, right?

And so, our narrating characters end up at their headquarters in various degrees of health.

"This is it?" questioned Kitty, quite unfairly. If you compared this place to the Resistance headquarters you could certainly pick the one that would get your enemies smited and not fly away in a tornado.

"OW! Stop doing that!" snapped Nathaniel to the spear-toting guy behind him.

"It slipped," he shrugged.

"PAPA, DON'T PREACH!" Bartimaeus yelled in his unconscious state like a certain loudmouthed puppet from a chapter ago.

"DUGONG!" shouted that loudmouthed puppet.

Mr "YOU!" ignored Kitty's question. This would be a good time for an introduction, because I for one am tired of hauling my exhausted fingers across the keyboard to the SHIFT key, then have the other hand stretch to the '/" keys, and then, still holding perilously down the SHIFT key, and laboriously tap out the Y, O, U—

"So, who are you anyway?" asked Kitty.

—And then, oh my lord, still enforce the SHIFT key, and reach across the keyboard, and tap the 1 Buttons once, twice—

"My name is: Frasier-Draco-Almighty-Thrumming-Piano-Chord I barcode 14145 (nee Raw Emotions)—"

NOOO! THAT'S EVEN WORSE!

"—& #1 4LL 7H1N62 L4/FULL—"

NOOO! THAT'S EVEN WORSE THAN EVEN WORSE!

"—And I've got a whole lot of other stuff that can't show on the end, like the elusive "equals sign", and those crazy pointy brackets, and—"

"Er, we'll pretend we didn't hear that, so you have a regular name," suggested Nathaniel. "Before the author foams down her chin onto the keyboard."

"My name is:" stated the Man Formerly Known As Mr "YOU!" . . .

"Leonard Charles Wildberry Balderdash III—"

: Crows flock ominously:

"—Jonathon Stroud—"

:The Disclaimer Demons suddenly appear in the author's room, bringing with them a zucchini of immense proportions, which smashes through her desk:

"Pantalaimon!"

:ROI spins around, whips out a military-banned gun, and launches a barrage of lettuce-sized bullets at the Demons:

"Nigel—!"

:ROI looks up hopefully:

"—Thornberry!"

:Releasing another wave of bullets, ROI kicks up the keyboard, and in the precious moments of time gained by the Demons' reforming, types the following event:

jhgH ew32a as DropopO3ed byyu ass refriREFRI33—

:In the forms of dense shadows, the Demons leapt, gnashing jagged teeth. Cursing as she discovers something jammed in the mechanism, ROI throws the weapon at them, and dives back down to the keyboard:

hE was dropped by a refrigerato—

:The weapon is thrown back, catching ROI in the stomach as she tries to roll away. Gasping for air, she strains to reach the keys . . .:

dfrr—

:The Paperclip Wizard complains. Without cause, it changes the sentence to the following:

The jug was as Droopy owed by end referrer deferred.

A modest sized ceramic mug landed on top of the "YOU!" guy.

"Wow," he said. "I could have sworn my former gang leader smashed that very jug because of me. My name is Droopy, by the way."

:The untested weapon suddenly lets out a terrible, terrible screech—:

ROI: Aw, KUSO!

: —And explodes with a dynamic—:

Bang.

Reboot sector 1 Slave.

LOADING . . . LOADING . . .

Welcome. Thank you for reading, but your thoughts could not be connected. Please check the fanfic, and try again.

Checking Memory . . .

50, 656 bytes,

100, 498 bytes

208, 515 bytes

299, 513 bytes

299, 519 bytes

299, 519.5 bytes

299, 519.75 bytes

299, 519.875

ERROR! ERROR! CORRUPTED INFORMATION!

(root. alternatepov4)

"Darn it!" screamed ROI, as she tried to stick the sawdust that was her desk together. "How the hell does all this happen?"

"It's karma! YOU'RE BEING PUNISHED BY THE HEAVENS FOR YOUR DUGONG RELATED CRIMES!"

"And why do I get stuck with him? I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING TO DESERVE THIS!" howls the author, who would describe herself as poor and misunderstood if this version supported 00ERROR00 it.

"Perhaps it is within the very nature of OCs," stated Mr Tipples calmly. "While, in the fanfiction world the Canon characters have well defined personalities and roles, the slippery nature of an originally created character plays havoc with the order of the fanfic world, which by meaning contrasts to the OCs' place of origin, the chaotic imaginations of its creators."

"No, you're a . . ." Mr Buttons trailed 00ERROR00 off.

"Thank you so much for that valuable information I should have written down, but what does that mean? The cameo characters from last chapter caused a lot of trouble too," ROI picked up a yoyo and flicked it experimentally. It didn't reach the top, and tangled in its own cord.

"Canon characters put in Original situations may have a lesser effect," Mr Tipples 00ERROR00 said 00ERROR00.

"Ooo . . . I'll have to 00ERROR00 think about that," said ROI, 00ERROR00 the 00ERROR00 computer system.

"00ERROR00!" 00ERROR00 ROI.

"I think it is time to reboot the system," 00ERROR00 Mr 00ERROR00 Mr Tipples 00ERROR00 said.

"I can 00ERROR00 deal," 00ERROR00 said 00ERROR00 ROI.

"No, you're a 00ERROR00! 00ERROR00!" 00ERROR00 Mr Buttons!

"00ERROR00 Maybe 00ERROR00 you're 00ERROR00?"

"I 00ERROR00 it's a 00ERROR00 00ERROR00."

ROI 00ERROR00 the 00ERROR00—

Tried to 00ERROR00

Tried 00ERROR00 00ERROR00

00ERROR00

It's

00ERROR00

Not

00ERROR00

Work00ERROR00ing!

!00ERROR00!

ROI:Suddenly seizing script format, she leaps for the computer tower, and slams the RESET button:

ROI: All right!

Mr Tipples: Good work!

Mr Buttons: No, YOU'RE good work!

ROI:Gloats: See, I can do stuff for myself, you know!

Mr Tipples:Notices lack of reset: Er, it's stuck.

ROI:Spins around: What?

Mr Buttons: No, you're a—

ROI: 00ERROR00!

Mr Buttons: DUGONG!

"Nathaniel?"

"Yeah?"

"We're manatees, aren't we?"

The magician looked down upon his grey and reasonably streamlined self.

"No."

"Good."

There is a pause, as Bartimaeus lazily strokes across the scene.

". . . We're dugongs."

There is a pause.

"AAAHHHH!" screams everybody, until there is a pop, everyone returns to normal, and I pull up a playlist.

Phew. 'Dearly beloved, are you listening . . ?'

"OK," said Kitty, as Nathaniel tried to control his hyperventilating. "What's happening?"

"Ignoring the fact that we were just sudden examples of nearly extinct water mammals?" questioned Bartimaeus, still in dugong form.

"Yes."

Are we demented, or am I disturbed?

"Can I answer that?"

There is a merry WHAM! And Bartimaeus is unconscious once more.

To live and not to breathe; is to die in tragedy . . .

"Let's not answer that," gasped Nathaniel. "Now, are we right in assuming that you have us mistaken for someone else?"

"Yes, maybe— I mean NO!" Droopy suddenly tried to gain some control. "You are hereby accused of the murder of someone not very important!"

"But you said he wasn't dead," pointed out Kitty.

"DO NOT QUESTION ME!" screamed Sergeant Droopy.

"He means attempted murder," Nathaniel clarifies like the necessary smart person he is.

"That's the thing with the dead but not the dead?" asked Droopy, metaphorically spitting all phlegm-ily over generations of good cops, bad cops, and those stereotypical doughnut eating incompetent cops you have to have in every genre for comic relief. Ew.

"I don't care, I won't apologize!" sung the still unconscious djinni in his necessary comic relief way.

"See! See!" Droopy pointed in his necessary demented Original Character way. "Condemned from his very own baleen!"

"That's for whales . . ." Nathaniel sighed.

"And it's a Green Day reference!" Kitty pointed out in her necessary intelligent street-wise way.

"Unlawful use of allusions!" shouted Droopy, pulling out a book.

"Why do I feel that this will be a long interaction?" sighed Nathaniel in his mulling way.

"Why did I agree to any of this?" sighed Kitty in her reckless no-respect-for-my-crows way.

Droopy was an impressively built man, for his unimpressively derived name. He had a muscular form that could have him be anything from Mr Particular Country, a hot bachelor millionaire, or thug number 3. His hair is long and tasseled, and home to that stylish grey hat that his sort ought to wear.

But balance has to be made somewhere.

The door opens. A ceiling fan lazily spins over a practical wooden desk all piled with files and tasteful office toys. Everything is in subdued tones of brown and grey.

"Uh, boss?" said Mr I-Point-etc-etc, sitting at the desk. "We've been through this before. You're room is the next one."

"Ah, sorry."

The door opens. Karma is restored. The walls were papered with a classic racecar over striped background. A rubber punching-clown (those things on weighted bottoms which bounce back and slam you every time to show aggression) stood in a corner. There was a bookcase consisting of one official looking book and a large amount of Disney comics, sticker books and animal piggybanks.

"Now," Droopy walked across black-and-white striped floorboards to his desk, which consisted of a moderate amount of files weighed down by a ceramic moose, a variety of funny shaped stress balls (STRESS BALLS! STRESS BALLS!) and a computer (decorated with party streamers and rhinestones). "Where were we?"

"The author sure plans ahead, doesn't she?" muttered Nathaniel, as the team of football players from several chapters ago walk past behind them.

Hear the dogs howling out of key/to a hymn called "Faith and Misery," . . . MWAHAHAHAA!

"She has to make up for something," said Kitty in her reckless—

"You used that before."

STOP MOCKING ME!

Nathaniel would have answered Droopy's question to move the exchange along, but at the sight of the room with the most horrible feng-shui he went suddenly into a mental arrest, and was only able to concentrate on breathing.

"DON'T WANNA BE AN— Oh! Hello there! Did I miss something?" without anything as a warning, Bartimaeus suddenly returned to the world of prominent characters. He looked around curiously.

". . . Dear Ra. The Other Place had better décor than here."

"AAAHHHH!" screamed Droopy. "It's the prophecy!"

"He means 'perpetrator'," muttered Nathaniel in his necessary explaining-person way.

"Did the Other Place have racecar wallpaper?" questioned Bartimaeus in his necessarily applied oblivion. "Wait . . . was I even there?"

"DROOPY!" yelled You.

"They meant: '"YOU!" yelled Droopy'," corrected Nathaniel again.

"I'm lost from my plot! Am I still a djinni? Am I even myself?" cried Bartimaeus in his unnecessary and unusual soul searching way.

"I'm . . . not sure what that all meant . . ." admitted Nathaniel.

"If everybody would please shut up—" tried Kitty.

"She means: "If there was a chance for everybody to calm down and let each other speak," Nathaniel censored in a very Virgo-like way.

"WHAT IS MY PURPOSE IN LIFE?"

"I DON'T KNOW!"

"DUGONG!"

"YOU!"

"OI!"

EVERYBODY SHUT UP OR I'LL DROP MORE ANIME CHARACTERS ON YOU!

Everybody shut up.

"So, um, what's going on?" asked Kitty.

OK, we're good. On holiday . . .

"YOU!" yelled You, I mean, Droopy (caught myself there).

"She means: "Often repeated joke until nauseas—"

Hmm, Haru-san, Zelgadiss-dono, Xelloss-sama or a really angsty Tsukasa?

"—Sorry. Means what it says."

Another protestor has crossed the line . . .

"YOU!" repeated Droopy for the umpteenth time. "You are the murderer! The one who killed—"

"—The . . . the . . . Isn't anyone going to correct me?"

Ahem.

"Sorry! I thought you didn't want me to interrupt."

Speak.

"Alright, alright, make up your—"

SPEAK, DOG!

"Dugong!"

Shut up!

"You mean the accused for an attempted murder!" Kitty shouts over the narrating squabble. "Because the person isn't dead, and there is no proof that it was Bartimaeus was the one to do it!"

"NOT TRUE!" Droopy shouts over the shouting over the narrating shouting. "I have a perfectly reasonable reason for my deduction!"

That got everybody's incredulous attentions.

"Pardon me," said Bartimaeus, in his necessary contrasting smart way. "But taken from the evidence of the past . . . entirety of the chapter, being your introduction from 'YOU!' guy to a hurriedly named 'Droopy', you would hardly seem like the type to have reasonable conclusions."

There is silence, except for the glaring of a dozen crows from the window.

"Alright. One, the subject in question disappeared about the time that you showed up. Two, you, a strangely constructed scarecrow, looks the strongest out of your team, against your spooky-looking magician and scary-looking girl companion."

The spooky looking magician and scary-looking girl— whoops, I mean, Nathaniel and Kitty glowered. Caught myself again!

("Just keep quiet, we'll get her at the disclaimers," Kitty muttered to the swelling magician.)

"I'd repeat my previous comment, but I'd only sound self-important again, and I really don't want to degrade my superior self to that," stated Bartimaeus.

"Three! We have evidence that it was a djinni who was responsible for the damage noted at the scene!" Droopy shouted over them. Again.

"I'd repeat my previous comment, but I'd rather point to the window and let the nice author work out a really good gag."

"Good Day, Droopy," said Hodge, flying past the window with spines glowing purple in the sunset.

"Here's today's report, Mr Droopy," Mwamba said, tossing a stack of papers through the door with her dexterous tail.

"Can I get a cameo again?" asked Farquarl, before he was dragged away by Xerxes and Bartuk.

"Er, on second thoughts, the ideas came from Mr Pointy," said Droopy, pointing next door.

"Uh, I have a name you know," said Mr Pointy. "It's—"

"Never mind. All we want to do is get past this stupid city and go to the Pyrite City to go home, get dumb, and get heartless," said Kitty, turning around. "Come on, guys. Let's—"

"Pyrite City?" Droopy exclaimed, standing up. "To see the Wizard of Ahz?"

"Yeah?" said Kitty, hesitantly.

"The Wizard of Ahz . . . you know, what I really want?" Droopy questioned wistfully.

". . . More . . . courage?"

"No. To arrest you all and prevent you from going!" With a snap of his strong and moisturized fingers, Droopy summoned a whole bunch of pike-carrying guys who just seemed to pop out of the shadows. Considering the story this was based on, that may not be far from the truth.

"Actually, we operate of the Eighth Plane, the plane of—"

Silence!

"It is against our Code to let wanted criminals out of our city unless in many pieces and floating down the river," stated Droopy, standing up tall and straight and impressive. "And so, it is my Duty, to lock you up without relevant evidence, a consideration of human rights, in a cell without ventilation, a mattress or a plumbing system!"

"What? I have to get locked up in a cell with these two!" Kitty gasped. "No! You inhuman monster!"

"MWAHAHA— Oh, damn. Not a villain. Anyway, too bad. You're gunna be there for life. Unless there is a slight chance that you could prove your innocence . . ." Droopy reflected.

"Wait," gasped Nathaniel, as Kitty fought off the pike-people with fists, feet and teeth. "If we can prove that we had nothing to do with the crime, we can go free?"

"What? Really?" asked Droopy.

"All we need to do is find this guy who is still alive and get him to clear our names," Nathaniel thought as quick as one who is doomed to spend his life locked up in a tiny place where the dregs of fanfic writers have their fun.

("DUGONG!"

You will die very painfully if I hear that again.)

"Yes! Please! Let us do that!" Nathaniel begged. "If you could just give us a week, we could find the person and— OW!" One of Kitty's kicks had gone slightly off course, and smashed into the back of his skull.

"Oops. Oh dear, looks like that hurt. But I am forced to agree with you," Kitty admitted. "Otherwise I'll be stuck with you."

"With a canon pairing? That'll be boring," said Bartimaeus in his necessary diluted author's opinion way.

"Hmm . . . I suppose that makes sense," said Droopy, checking his book that was not a compilation of Disney cartoons.

"Great! Let's go!" said Bartimaeus enthusiastically, currently the target of seven bad ends of pikes.

"No. Not you," said Droopy, shaking a finger as Bartimaeus's face fell all messily over the floor in the literal djinni way of djinn. "You're the main suspect, and we need leverage to make sure your two companions will come back."

Kitty looked at Nathaniel.

"Pyrite City?"

"Pyrite City."

Two very heavy set crows suddenly swoop over their heads, pulling out enough hair to make a decent comb-over.

"Sorry, sorry, yeah. We'll come back," Kitty said.

"All we need to do is find the target, right? Who is it?" asked Nathaniel, with tears in his eyes not caused from the unspeakable injustice stated a few paragraphs before.

"Well," said Droopy, standing up in an important-character-who-is-about-to-state-an-important-fact way. "It is no less than . . . than . . . excuse me . . ."

Fine, fine.

/Drum roll/

"The Cowardly Lion!"

"Ah! So, who are they?" Nathaniel said, suddenly enlightened.

"The Cowardly Lion!"

"Who?"

"The Cowardly Lion?"

"Yes!"

"The Cowardly Lion!"

Silence.

"Any other name?" Kitty asked, cautiously.

". . . Not that we know of."

"Well, how do you know it's the Cowardly Lion?" demanded Kitty, looming over the man in a short-character-looming-over-a-taller-one way.

Droopy was unable to speak. He pointed rapidly to a pile of papers on his desk.

They were letters. They said, in crudely cut magazine letters:

cOW-AR-d-ly L-oi-N ! Il comm To g37 Yuu ?

That meant: "You of the name of Cowardly Lion! It is my intention to come to your current location and take you away, possibly to mine, or perhaps an abandoned warehouse depending on my financial situation." Broadly.

"That's from the attempting murderer?" Nathaniel asked in affirmation.

"THERE YOU GO, ALL PROLIFIC-TYPE AGAIN!"

"You mean— never mind."

"So, all we have to do is find this guy with three wrists or something—"

From two doors down comes a choking sob.

"—And we'll be clear?"

"No!" said Droopy.

"No?" went the assemblage.

"No. Then you must take it to the mountain, and drop it in the volcano where it was forged!"

Silence. Again.

"We'll just go now," said Nathaniel and Kitty, extracting themselves from scene.

"Wait! Don't leave me!" cried Bartimaeus in his uncharacteristic pitiful way.

"DUGONG!" cried out Mr Buttons, in his unnecessary but sadly characteristic interrupting way.

Please stay tuned for our next installment, coming . . . when it comes. It's coming, I'm sure. I'll just have to heave my . . . onto my chair and pull up my . . . and start typing . . . /Head slumps on desk/ I'm tired.

Anna returns through door, brushing off a liberal covering of black feathers. "What are you complaining about? You didn't just have to walk six car parks and a mall."

/Tries to lift head/ Senior . . . life . . . so . . . scary . . . Responsibilities . . . too big.

"Oh, please," says Anna dismissively, grimacing at the white stains on her black suit that definitely wasn't ice-cream. "It would just about the time to reveal what a terrible scatterbrain you . . . crows-crows-crows . . ."

ROI pauses as the crows assemble, without her knowledge, in a semicircle around Anna. "You're right. Well, you're wrong. Now's the time to show everybody what a dutiful and organized person I can be! I can prove to myself and everybody that I have what it takes to get . . . wherever it is I'm going . . . whenever it is I'll go . . . whatever I feel I will . . . Anyway! Me! Yay!"

"Crows . . . crows . . ." mutters Anna. "Crows . . . crows . . ."

"That's right!" I say, switching to first-person, the narration of kings and djinni . . . and really successful people . . . and bad high-school stories . . . But nevertheless!

"Crows . . . crows . . . DAMN THOSE CROWS!" Anna suddenly screamed, taking out her Hook of Bruised Souls, and started swiping at my retribution-ers. "I'LL GET YOU!"

"And no matter the work . . . the time . . . the effort . . . the guilt . . . the under-appreciation . . . the . . . the . . ."

"CROWS! CROWS! CROWS!" Anna screams as she swipes at the crows.

"The . . . the . . . I'M SO SORRY ANNA!"

"Huh?" went Anna, as I fling myself at her feet.

"I'm sorry I don't appreciate you! I'm sorry I leave all this work for you! I'm sorry I gave all the treasury money to Lina so she'd take Zelgadiss back to his world! I'm sorry I am reduced to script format so often!"

The most inspired thing Anna can come up with is a: "Huh?"

"And I just want to say . . . that update time's been and gone, and we've got to get cracking."

As I narrate boldly, Anna blinks and wishes that her headache had lasted a day longer so she could have stayed home.

"OK! We'll do the disclaimer, mention a few things about the competition and the next chapter, and we're gone! Donald! Tony! Disclaimer! Now!"

The set springs to life as my restored /4D 4U7H0R 5K1LLZ seep into every damaged and slight ravaged corner. "I feel great! And because this feeling will be gone in the morning, I can say nice things and forget about them!"

I point to Donald, who is carrying the Disclaimer notes. "You! You're patient and passive comic relief! I like you!"

I point to Tony, who is standing there useless. "You! You're . . . comic relief and . . . I pay you. I like you! Now! Disclaimers!"

The crows, the lovely, loyal, and liked crows, helpfully rush the two boys out of my way.

"Alright! I do not own 'The Bartimaeus Trilogy', 'The Wizard of Oz', mp3s, MIDIs, that 'Life Strategies Stuff', the English language, the 'Might and Magic' games, 'Tribute' by Tenacious D, surrealists, post- impressionists/expressionists/cubists artists, Terry Pratchett's Discworld series, Kelly Osbourne's 'Papa Don't Preach'— I can see why this is annoying— ah, any Green Day references, or the anime FLCL, the Slayers or .hack, thank you!"

ROI wheezes, noting that she should consider a better way to do the disclaimers while still in a good mood.

Nope, can't think of anything.

Anyway, REMINDER!

I still have that competition-type thing, where you have to submit the life lessons you learnt from the Bartimaeus Trilogy. I'd appreciate them dreadful much!

Now, next chapter!

ROI/Psyching up all Haruko style/

Ooo . . . YEAH! You know, this Cowardly Lion type is hardly going to walk up to the office like some walking-up guy. That means our guys have to go search for it! But who might it be? Here's some teasers . . .

Sholto Pinn . . . or, his djinni Simpkin, who is the very essence of cowardice in the eyes of other djinni, but also a link to his very rich master. Could the murderer want his money?

Nick, who displays cowardice in large amounts, and already knows Kitty. Perhaps the murderer wants the Resistance?

Or Mr Pennyfeather, who's got even more control and influence over the Resistance, but he's a tough nut to crack . . .

Or maybe it's none of these I just mentioned, 'cause I like messing with ya.

See ya later, fans!