loony on 7/2/2005 at 20:46

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This is where my laughter drew the attention of my boss, so thanks for that :P

Keep up the great work :thumb:

fett on 14/2/2005 at 06:00

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Chapter 18 – Pretty Old Quarter – 8:56pm

I finally managed to escape from that … place. But I think it’s getting pretty deep here. I feel compelled to review everything that’s happened in the last few hours, but Ashley’s yelling at me to keep up. I only found traces of the old sweaty guy … I don’t think he’s been there since O’Reiley saw him all those years ago. So I’m left with more questions, and this little vial of urine the ghost had me steal. This isn’t over yet. Hopefully, I set my Tivo to tape C.S.I. tonight…

Pretty Old Quarter was pretty much exactly the same as Garrett left it hours earlier. The guard who had been bearing down on him was still there with his sword drawn.

“I knew I’d find you!”

“But that was hours ago,” said Garrett, “and hey – look at that scary ghost!”

“Ah! It’s a scary ghost! I’m going to run away!”

The blue light emanating from Ashley walked purposefully through the street toward Ft. Ironweed with Garrett in tow. He kept trying to clear the way with some well placed arrows, but every time he took out a group of guards, a new one came waltzing in from around the corner.

They must have one of those new fancy guard machines back there. Probably related to those cloner guys…

“You’ve still got my pee, right?” asked the ghost, “We’ll need it to remove the marks.”

“Why? I’ve still got some Lysol left – seems like that would do a better job.”

“Well, these are magical marks that are removed only by urine.”

“Seems like you’d want to clean up the urine, not use it as a spot cleaner…”

“That’s just the WAY IT WORKS, OK? Cut me some slack here, I’m dead remember..”

Hammers and guards alike scattered away from the blue light as they entered Ft. Ironweed and headed downstairs to the crypts.

“We’d better get somewhere soon. I’m losing interest.”

“Do you always complain this much?” she shot back.

She led them to a secret room in depths of the crypt.

“Ok – clean up the stains.”

“What stains?” Garrett said, looking around, “I don’t see any stains.”

“Hmmm….maybe just pour some of it onto a rag.”

“I don’t have a rag. Can I use my loot bag again?”

“Sure.”

A ringing sound pierced the air around them.

“What was that?” he asked looking around warily.

“That was the sound of something magical happening.”

“I hear that sound when I steal stuff. Or at least I used to. Boy do I miss those days.”


Keeper Compound – 9:12pm

“Let the book of names record that on this day, did Keeper Gamall take the name of Interpreter Gamall. Let us also continue to ignore the fact that she has been eight years old for well over six years now. She will begin to read the prophecies … you do know how to read…?” Orlando looked over the podium at the girl.

“Yes.”

“Whew! That could’ve been bad. Anyway,” he addressed the assembly again, “Let her begin to read and tell us if the books say anything interesting. Let her eyes spot stuff that needs to be done and to do it, like Cattlecall before her, without demanding much from the rest of us. I say … are you feeling ill? Your nose appears to be bleeding.”

“No I’m fine,” said the girl.

“Ah. Very well then. As I was saying, Let her sing all the songs that we like … well now I must insist that you have a lie down. The skin appears to be peeling away from your face.”

“No really, I’m fine,” her voice began to strain.

“But you look as if you’re about to explode!”

“Alright then! If you must know…”

The teenager dug around near her belt and found a small zipper then proceeded to remove her pants. As she did so, she morphed into a larger figure – a MUCH larger figure, and not at all that of an innocent little girl. The hulking man proceeded to unfasten a large girdle which popped loudly as the tension loosened. The chamber was filled with panicked murmering.

“Keeper Gamall! What is the meaning of this?!”

“Doggone it Orlando! It’s hotter’n a dog’s crotch in them there pants. I been walkin’ around in ‘em fer years! They ride up something fierce…”

“Who are you? What have you done with Gamall?”

“There never was no Gamall. I am Elvis! You thunk you could keep me from comin’ back? I’ve been around fer decades! I AM music! I write it, sing it, eat it, sleep with it, go on vacation with it … and lots more stuff. I jest needed someone to dance around fer a bit so I could manifest myself through them. The power was in the pants, see?”

“That makes no sense,” said Orlando, ever the voice of reason.

“You think your smarter ‘n me donthca Orlando?! All of ya do! You folks think you know a good tune? Listen ta this ‘un here…ah one, ah two, ah one, two, three!! YA AIN’T NUTHIN’ BUT A HOUNDOGG!!! CRYIN’ ALL THE TIME!!! YA AIN’T NOTHING BUT A HOUNDOGG!!! CRYIN’ ALL THE TIME!!!”

Chaos erupted in the Keeper hall as Orlando made a quick getaway. All over the room, Keepers clawed at their ears as blood poured from their heads. Others ran headfirst into doorways, trying to render themselves unconscious. Screams filled the air.

“Make it stop!!”

“Please! We’ll do anything!!”

“Oh the humanity!!”

But the figure seemed to grow in stature as it wailed away. The power blue leisure suit seemed to suffocate all within it’s sight, gold chains swung from the creature’s neck as sweat poured from his portly form. The pompadour hairdo swayed to the rhythm of the song as he began shaking his groin at those not yet fallen.

“YOU AIN’T NEVER MET A RABBIT AND YOU AIN’T NO FRIEND OF MINE!!!”

“I don’t own a rabbit!!” A young Keeper screamed as he hurled himself to the ground from the third story. Mercifully, the song ended before the very foundations of the compound were shaken to dust.

Elvis rose to his full height and wiped his sweaty brow.

“Now I’ve gotta take over the whole City!”

“But why? Why?” Yelled a Keeper, muscles still in spasm as the last notes drifted away.

Elvis strode menacingly toward the Keeper, crotch first, yelling, “None a yore business! Looks like I’m gonna hafta take a few songs of’n yore jukebox!!!”


Meanwhile back at Ft. Ironweed…

“I’m me again,” said Ashley, “he can’t use me anymore…”

“Who were you before?” asked Garrett.

“Ah – once I was just Jessica’s sister, but ya’ know…it’s a family thing.”

“Hmmm…no clue what you’re talking about.”

“Anyway – Elvis buried my body down here and put marks on the grave so no one would find them. Then he took my pants and made himself look like me, which wasn’t tough because I’m pretty masculine anyway. But now the marks are gone and he won’t fit into my pants anymore. Thank you. Goodbye!”

She began to fade from sight.

“Hang on! Do I get paid for this or anything? I’m not union you know!”

“Goodbye Garrett. Thank you for setting my pants free.”

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!!!!

Meanwhile back at the Keeper Compound

Keeper carnage decorated the main hall as Garrett entered. Faces frozen in terror, eyes wide open staring at nothing, blood drained from the ears. Others wandered around in a daze.

“GARRETT! GAMALL DID THIS.”

“Wow Orlando – you don’t have to shout.”

“WHAT? WHAT DID YOU SAY?”

“I SAID YOU DON’T HAVE TO SHOUT? What’s the matter with you guys?”

“OH, SORRY. IT SEEMS GAMALL’S, OR RATHER ELVIS’ SINGING HAS RENDERED MOST OF US PARTLY DEAF. WHY ARE YOU OUT OF BREATH?” asked Orlando.

“BECAUSE THE CITY IS BADLY DESIGNED AND I’M HAVING TO RUN MY ASS OFF TO GET FROM ONE PLACE TO THE OTHER.”

“OH – SORRY ABOUT THAT.”

“So it looks like you have a new target for those assassins.”

“WHAT?”

“I SAID…this is ridiculous…read my lips. It Looks Like You Have A New Target For Those Assassins."

“YES, BUT UNFORTUNATELY THE ENFORCERS ARE QUITE … INEFFECTUAL AGAINST HER.”

“They’d be ineffectual against a small group of third graders Orlando. They’re incompetent.”

“YES, WELL ELVIS HAS FOUND THE FINAL SONG. THE LAST OF ALL SONGS. IT’S A VERY POWERFUL WEAPONS – HE’LL NO DOUBT…”

“Sing it,” interjected another, less hearing impaired Keeper, “and in doing so, reap untold suffering, and ensure his complete invulnerability for all time.”

“Did you try luring him with a bag of potato chips? I hear he’s very fond of them,” Garret asked.

A frantic young woman ran into the room, “Keeper Orlando. The board games. They’re gone.”

“WHAT?”

“I SAID THE BOARD GAMES ARE GONE! AND SO IS THE SPITOON AND THE JACKELOPE’S PAW!”

“THEN IT WAS ELVIS WHO WANTED THEM, NOT CATTLECALL.”

“ORLANO – WE CAN HEAR YOU – YOU DON’T HAVE TO YELL.”

“Oh – of course,” he replied, “you see I received these notes that I thought were from Cattlecall, but they kept coming, even after she was dead. I obeyed them anyway because it only just occurred to me at this moment that dead people can’t write.”

“It appears we’ve made things easy for Elvis. But what does he intend to do with our junk?”

“THE BOARD GAMES ARE NOT JUNK!” yelled Orlando, “I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW THERE’S A SCATTEGORIES GAME IN THERE THAT’S IN MINT CONDITION! MINT I SAY!!!!

“There is no way to know what Elvis will do with our … stuff,” the female Keeper cast an anxious glance at Orlando, “but he must have a hidden lair.”

“Why a hidden lair?” asked Garrett.

“Because all bad guys have hidden lairs.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say all bad guys have hidden lairs – there have been some exceptions. Like the Joker – he didn’t have a hidden lair did he?”

“Yep,” she replied.

“How ‘bout Darth Vader?”

“Deathstar.”

“Ah yeah, forgot…” Garrett scratched his head, “Skeletor?”

“Hidden lair.”

“Well then, stands to reason that Elvis would have a hidden lair where he’s taken your stuff. I might have an idea about where it is.”

“YOU COULD FIND IT GARRETT! A THIEF COULD FIND IT. YOU MUST GO NOW – GO AND KILL HIM. AND FIND A WAY TO DESTROY THE FINAL SONG SO THAT IT CAN NEVER BE SUNG,” screamed Orlando.

“Let me get this straight for the people playing on consoles,” Garrett said skeptically, “You want me to find Elvis’ lair, learn what he wants your stuff for, kill him, AND find the final song? Anything else?”

“HOW DARE YOU ACT SO HIGH AND MIGHTY!”

“Enough yelling Orlando – you’re going to make me deaf,” Garrett cut him off.

“Yet there is truth to his words,” said the lady Keeper, “this all started when you stole the Spittoon and the Paw. The songs DID warn us.”

“But you guys are the ones who told me to steal the Spitton and the Paw!”

“Yes, but in keeping with tradition, the plan was always to blame you if something went wrong. You didn’t actually think we’d take responsibility for anything did you?”

That got a round of chuckles around the room.

“Right,” Garrett said, “how could I forget...”

Old Man on 14/2/2005 at 12:35

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I chuckled until I realized I needed some help understanding as well. :erg:

Pitch on 14/2/2005 at 15:28

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:thumb:
I can't wait to meet the ContactLens! :D

Raven on 14/2/2005 at 16:43

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:mad: :p :laff:

The rest is even better!