Disclaimer: I own neither the Underland Chronicles, nor any miscellaneous tidbits or references I may use in this piece.

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All proceeds go to no one, because there aren't any.

Chapter

8

Gregor stood and wiped the sweat from his brow. The drastic change in climate when moving from New York to Virginia was certainly taking its toll now. He peered down at his handiwork and shook his head. A tangled mass of fabric and plastic sat before him, not quite resembling a tent yet.

Lizzie held the instruction manual in front of her brother's face for the umpteenth time. "No, Gregor. You have to pull the stick thing through that hole," she chided.

"Yeah, I get it, Liz. But it's easier said than done." Gregor knelt down yet again and began fretting with the jumbled mess.

Their mother poked her head out of the back door. "Kids, lunch is ready!"

Lizzie stood and looked at her brother expectantly. "Tell her I'll be I'll be in in a second."

She hesitated, but gave a quick nod and trotted away.

This had become routine. Whenever Gregor began a task, no matter how mundane, he absolutely had to finish it. A week prior, he had set to work on a block of wood, trying to carve some sort of doodad on a whim. He had been at it for seven hours straight when his mother ripped the unfinished figure from his hand, nearly cutting herself with his knife in the process. From that point on, she would only let him work on it for an hour a day.

The doodad was almost finished. It was turning out to be some sort of animal… or something. Gregor had decided to give it to Lizzie when he finished, and wanted to start one for Boots, too. He would definitely make it an animal of some kind… maybe.

Someone was shaking his shoulder. "Gregor! Are you alright, kiddo? C'mon, your lunch is gonna get cold." It was his dad.

Gregor looked down at the tent. It was perfect. Not a stick thingy out of place. He felt the rager sensation thrum quieter within him. He shook his head. This had happened several times now. Whenever he devoted himself to an activity, he raged, which caused his efficiency to skyrocket.

"Not bad, Gregor," his dad said, giving him a thumbs up. "But if you don't come in, your mother will strangle us both."

"Right." Gregor walked astride his father and went to join the family.

Ripred lazed in the center of the octagonal code room. Intrusive Apollo had swept in not five minutes ago and spirited his dear Riftwell away. What a travesty! How dare the foolish bat.

Ripred grumbled under his breath as he awaited Lovely Riftwell's return. He reflected over the past few days. Old Vikus had handled the whole "Queen-Luxa-disappears-into-thin-air" thing quite well, considering. He immediately began a search crew, which he headed, and assigned the various duties to humans who even Ripred himself could not have chosen better.

Ripred's thoughts were interrupted by the smell of Fretting Aurora. The beautiful gold bat fluttered in and gave a grave look to Ripred. "What now?" Ripred demanded.

"War looms." Aurora said, offering her back to the rat. Without a second thought, Ripred climbed aboard and was carried out over Regalia to the arena.

Dearest Dulcet, Militant Mareth, Healthy Howard, Helpful Hazard, Aggravating Apollo, a random teal bat, and a bunch of llamas were clustered at the center of the large, mossy zone.

"What's the word, kiddies?" Ripred said, hopping off of Aurora. "Also, why the spitters?"

"The spitters are here for trade talks." Hazard said. "Tell him what you told us, Theseus."

The teal bat, Theseus, fidgeted a moment before speaking. "Forgive me, master rat. Uh, if I may… er, that is to say, may I…? Er?..."

Ripred snapped his jaw at Stuttering Theseus. "Out with it, or out with your throat."

"Oh! Yes, uh, the Cutters are on the move. They advance on the Fount, but will not stop there. They plan to eradicate warm-bloods in general. They have already laid siege to the Nibbler colonies, but the citizens were able to escape mostly intact."

"Always the Nibblers… Where are they now?" Ripred asked.

"They have sought refuge at the Fount, but that will not be viable for long."

"How long until they reach the Fount?" Mareth chimed in.

"By my estimate, four or five days at most. Then, two weeks until they are upon us." Theseus replied.

"Thank you, Theseus," Dearest Dulcet said. "Go to Ariadne. She waits in your cave."

"Oh, many thanks, Dulcet. Many thanks." The bat dipped his head and launched away.

"Well, this is a right pickle we're in, isn't it?" Lovely Riftwell blurted into the silence.

Ripred went right into wartime mode. "Alright, we gotta move fast. The Fount certainly know the situation, but their standing army is woefully small for an invasion this size. Mareth, send Third and Fourth divisions to the Fount as fast as their bats can carry them. Tell them to do what they need, but no longer than two hours. They will likely no return, but this is what they signed up for." Mareth nodded and jogged off, no doubt to rendezvous with his own bat.

"Dulcet, find Vikus. I don't care where he is or what he's doing, he's needed here and now."

"Yes, of course." Dulcet sprinted toward the entrance of the arena, close behind Mareth.

"Howard, inform your staff to get as much rest as they can. The next month is going to be brutal." Howard grunted in agreement, but stayed for the time.

"Hazard, send the llamas home and communicate with every head of species you can. Get as many able bodies on our side as you can. We'll need far more than one army. Riftwell, you're with me."

"Ooh, I like this take-charge Ripred. Where are we off to?" Lovely Riftwell asked.

Ripred grinned as Hazard and Howard peered at him with questioning eyes. "We're going home, my sweet. We're gonna build an army of our own."

So I suppose I should explain; I took some artistic liberty. Instead of just referring to a person with their name, I thought it would be interesting for Ripred to add an honorific of sorts to distinguish his subjects.

That's about it. Until next-…

What? You thought I was going to explain why this chapter took so long?

Pfft, Haha, no.

(College did it.)