A/N: Raven: So, we actually have nothing to talk about.

iheartmwpp: Yeah, nothing at all.

Raven: I mean, when you have nothing to say, you can't really say anything.

iheartmwpp: Exactly. So basically, we have nothing at all to say.

Raven: Nope. Nothing at all.

Ned Flanders: Feels like I'm wearing nothing at all! Nothing at all! Nothing at all!

Homer Simpson: Stupid sexy Flanders!

Disclaimer: Chronicles of Narnia (really? That's what we're writing about??? AHHH!!), Chronicles of Narnia rap from SNL, the Simpsons and square whales.

Chapter 34: The Battle Begins Kind of Except Not At All

"It's the Chronic (what?) —cles of Narnia, Yes, the Chronic (what?) —cles of Narnia, We love that Chronic (what?) —cles of Narnia, Pass that Chronic (what?) —
cles of Narnia…"

The Bitch rapped away as about twelve other bad guys break-danced in the background. They were preparing for the battle their way, having arrived at the field hours before. They got bored waiting for the other army to come, so they wiled away the hours by partying wildly. They were so busy doing so, they didn't notice the flying pair of scissors as it monitored their position and then flew back to Peter to report on its findings.

As it circled down toward the Pevensie, astride his gallant sparkly unicorn, it slowed its speed to land gracefully in Peter's open palm. Peter, upon seeing the scissors in his hand, squealed in happiness and stabbed himself.

Oreius rolled his eyes. Peter had been doing this all morning.

"Sire, I really think you should stop doing that. You could give yourself brain damage," he wisely advised.

"Too late!" Peter replied, his eyes and face twitching sporadically. "Besides, I'm feeling particularly emo today. I need to get it out of my system before the battle."

"Um…emo-ness doesn't exist yet. We're only in the 1940s you know."

"Oh really? Bugger!" He grabbed the scissors and yanked them out of his chest where they sputtered angrily.

"What the hell???" the scissors screamed.

"Oh hello there," Peter introduced himself nonchalantly, and then narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Do you have dentures?"

"Uh, no."

"Good. Now fly away, dear scissors!" Peter flicked the scissors off his hand. They landed in Oreius's lap as Peter smiled serenely.

"Is he always like this?" the scissors whispered, nodding toward the eldest Pevensie.

"Sadly, yes," Oreius sighed.

"I feel very bad for you."

"I feel very bad for everyone. He kind of has to lead us."

"We're screwed," the scissors casually pointed out.

"You mean, we're cut!" Peter cried out, laughing. "Because you're a pair of scissors and not a screwdriver, ha ha, get it? Get it?"

Oreius didn't laugh. "Yes, sire."

"Now, what should we do?"

"Well, sire, I have some news of the enemy. They're dancing."

"What? I wanna dance!" Peter said, outraged.

"Dancing does not win a battle!" Oreius interrupted.

"It could, if we SURPRISE!!"

"Um, what?"

Peter shrugged. "I don't know, maybe SURPRISE!"

"Not the catchphrases again!" Oreius moaned.

"No, I'm using the element of surprise…SURPRISE!!"

"Oh. How clever of you."

"Hey, Oreius, where are you going?"

"I'm going to go cut myself."

"Have fun!"

"I hate you."

Peter watched the retreating centaur and wondered who was going to save him later. He decided it didn't matter, seeing as he would probably impale himself later. So, turning to another actor replacing Oreius (his stunt double), Peter told him his plan. It was to run and scream like little girls. Oreius's stunt double readily agreed.

Then came lots of noise. The Bitch looked up from her rapping to see Aslan's army surrounding her.

"Oh crap!" Her army raced to their positions.

And then came the dramatic moment.

"QUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCCKKKKKK!" roared the Cochickostish, thrusting his trident into the air.

The Bitch's army answered him with various noises that sounded like various kitchen appliances. This empowered them to move over the hills and come into plain view. Strange animals wandered in and out of the shot, as well as the originals: Cochickostishes, neon orange octopi, weird froggy things as seen in Chapter 19, the evil Mary-Sue, and of course the Bitch, adorned in potato peelings after her recent victory over the Great Potato Aslan. She was pulled by tadpoles in a magnificent carriage with square wheels.

The whole procession stopped for a moment. The tadpoles flopped feebly on the ground.

"Okay, whose brilliant idea was this?" the Bitch demanded.

"Well, it was yours, Your Majesty," a puppy-dog man pointed out.

She rounded on him fiercely, jabbing a finger in his gut. "Hey, if I wanted your opinion, I would've given it to you."

"Yes, Your Majesty!" When she wasn't looking, the poor creature clutched his stomach. "That was my good liver!" he groaned.

"Now, would someone please PULL MY SLEIGH!" A couple of octopi reluctantly rushed to help. They staggered forward, heaving every time the square wheels attempted to turn.

Flanking them at the front of the army were a bunch of identically painted telephone poles, which were supposed to resemble Siberian tigers, who were rolling forward. They couldn't use real tigers because they were endangered, and Andrew Adamson didn't want anymore lawsuits than the ones that already existed.

CAMERA PAN!!

The camera then panned to show the scope of the armies. Peter stared at the Bitch, trying to muster courage that was nonexistent. He turned to regard his own force just in time to see his own brother as he plummeted off the side of a one hundred foot cliff.

"Was that in the script?" he wondered aloud.

"I didn't do it!" Mr. Beaver shouted over the din, hiding his weapon of choice, an umbrella, behind his back.

"Yes he did!" yelled a random faun, but he wasn't yelling for very long because he suddenly found an umbrella shoved down his throat and then opened.

Mr. Beaver laughed nervously. "I still didn't do it! You didn't see anything," he continued, pointing at the fauns around him with a threatening expression on his face. They backed away in fear.

Peter frowned and then noticed an arm sticking out of a pile of rubble at the base of the mountain.

"…I'm…okay…!" Edmund croaked.

Peter sighed in relief. Edmund wasn't supposed to die, yet, and he was looking forward to when it was planned to happen later.

Clearing his throat, he faced the enemy once more. He sighed and then triumphantly raised his sword (which was still cardboard, by the way). There was silence. He pumped his fist again. There was still silence. No one in his army got where he was going with this.

"Hello? I'm trying to build up on everyone's spirits!"

From off-screen came a horrible trumpeting noise; the real Oreius had just learned that he could save money on car insurance by switching to Geico. The army erupted in cheers, riled by the bugling sound. Peter had a sweatdrop.

The camera turned back to the Bitch.

"I have a profound interest in stuffed animals. Stuff them all!"

"With stuffing?" spoke up a random villain.

"Yes!"

"But not the turkey kind, right?"

"No, of course not! The fluffy stuffing, for teddy bears and all."

"TEDDY!" screamed iheartmwpp, a million miles away. Raven quickly smothered her with a pillow.

"QQQUUUUAAACCKKK!!" replied the Cochickostish as the noise of the Bitch's army swelled and began to charge forward.

Peter sat up straight on his sparkly unicorn, looking dignified, when he suddenly slipped off the side. He landed with a clang on the ground.

"Ow."

Seeing as the army was still advancing, Peter quickly scrambled back up onto his unicorn. Amidst the pile of rubble, Edmund painstakingly drew his sword and raised it up in his hand, waving it back and forth.

Aslan's army waited for Peter's signal as the eldest Pevensie raised his sword, calling forth the flying scissors, pencils, pens and other assorted flying school supplies. All of them clutched giant dog bones in whatever clutching limbs they possessed. As they swooped over the Bitch's army, they dropped their bones, which the puppy-men immediately devoured. This caused them to get sleepy so they went home for nappy-poos and were joined by the school supplies, who were tired of being magical and from flying.

"Well there goes half of our forces…" the Bitch muttered under her breath.

Peter smiled as he saw the Bitch's army crumbling a little bit. He glanced at Oreius's stunt double.

"Are you with me?" he asked.

"Nope. I was only paid to be here."

"Oh…well, could you pretend?"

"Give me fifty bucks."

"Son of a— Fine! Here,"

Oreius's stunt double took the cash and ran from the scene.

Peter cursed. "Now I'm feeling more emo than ever!"

He was spared his emo-ness, however, as he received his cue. He cleared his throat and raised his sword on high.

"For Narnia and for…that guy thing…that was cool…until he was a potato and then…did stuff…what's his name?"

"Aslan," whispered a random animal.

"ASLANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!" Peter screamed.

By the time he was done, his whole army had trampled over him. He coughed. "That kind of…hurt inside." He climbed back on his unicorn and continued forward.

He managed to catch up and head to the front while everyone else was in slow motion, and then reduced his own speed to match theirs.

It was a dramatic moment.

"QQQQUUUUAAAACCCKKK!"

"WTF???"

After that outburst, silence descended upon them all.

"Why are we all silent?" Peter whispered.

"We're trying to build the suspense!" a stunt guy informed him at his side.

"Oh. Okay then," Peter answered, lowering the visor on his helmet. He immediately became blind and swerved to the far left, crashing into the only tree in the field.

Meanwhile, the telephone poles and the blenders were fighting violently. Everyone else had stopped to watch such an equal fight. They were rewarded by everyone dying.

After the carnage was washed away, a faun spoke up before he could get into his place to fight.

"Hey, Andrew Adamson! We were promised donuts! Where are they?"

The entire cast turned to the director who smiled sheepishly. "Uh…what donuts?"

The majority of both armies threw down their weapons in disgust and walked away. This left the main actors plus a couple other computer generated characters on the scene who couldn't eat donuts anyways because they themselves weren't real.

"Well, this just feels silly," the Bitch commented.

Peter nodded. "Yeah…so, you wanna get lunch?"

"Chinese?"

"Okay."

Almost all the rest of the cast deserted the field. Only Edmund was left in his pile of rubble, his arm sticking out and waving his sword frantically.

"Yay! Who's winning, guys?" There was no reply. "Uh…guys? Guys??? GUYS?!?!?!?"