The Death of Rats Posted March 10, 2004 Report Posted March 10, 2004 Meanwhile, back in the Recruiter's office, Melba frowned deeply. On the Secretary of Initiates' face, this was something of an awe-inspiring, or seriously disquieting event (depending on your point of view). To wit: for a proper, if not perfectly accurate visualization you must first procure yourself a ten pound lump of bread dough. Next, using the index finger only, press a 'frowny face' into the dough as deeply as possible. Consider your work. Now you've got the idea. Melba can be delicately called 'large' the same way Antarctica can be called 'chilly'. But back to the matter of the why behind the vexed shift of the generoulsy endowed tectonic plates she calls facial muscles. Where, she wondered, are all these rats coming from? With all the glacial inertia that only a broomhead blow from Melba can pack, one unfortunate rodent went abruptly from Wyvern's office to that great granary in the sky. As it expired, the shiny trinket it had been trying to flee with fell from slack jaws and began to roll away. Too surprised to pick it up, she wached with fixed interest nonetheless, for she now realized they all carried the same thing. "A geld piece?", she muttered. "What do rats want with geld?" Just as she was wondering this, all the othe scurrying rodents, noticing Melba's distraction, as one dropped the single geld piece that each had hel in its mouth as it fled the impending broom, and escaped en masse out Wyvern's window. Standing quietly for a long moment, Melba finally shrugged and blew out Wyvern's candles. If he doesn't get to clean this up himself, there'll be hell to pay, I know it! So she put the matter from her mind and strolled off down the hallway, making Belchfire's new Cafe songbird skip. ...as well as missing a seemingly innocuous sheet of papyrus lying on the seat of Wyvern's chair. It read: ----------------------------------------- Dear Wyvern, Figured it was time. Yours, The Grim Squeaker King's Road I am ruler here Master of all I survey No insolence shall be brooked Hate and vile actions meet with immediate and terrible retribution I travel these roads all the day long to make sure my subjects are safe happy and in line I must admit though I much prefer the wee hours In the day my people are too many and find too many excuses for tensions to run high The pettiness the impatience the rudness the recklessness it s enough to turn your stomach At night there is quiet The way is serene the people now sedate even kind It is a soothing balm to my soul I can t believe that bastard just cut me off -------------------------------------------------------- It is written with black crayon, in very small handwriting.
purple_shadows Posted March 11, 2004 Report Posted March 11, 2004 I liked it. It was witty and altogether a fun read. I hope you keep it up. Purple_shadows sits down on her favorite pile of papers, and opens her knitting bag, out of which scurries her rat companion, up her arm to take its favorite seat on her shoulder. PS puts on her reading glasses and begins to knit while humming a little tune.
Jareena Faye Posted March 13, 2004 Report Posted March 13, 2004 Hahahaha.... the Grim Squeaker... haha... I love the way your mind works!
Wyvern Posted March 15, 2004 Report Posted March 15, 2004 As Melba strolls down the hallway towards the Belchfire Cafe in the hopes of finding a slightly more calming activity than swatting swarms of geld-hungry rats with broomsticks, she notices the hobbled form of Wyvern stooping over a strange contraption in the far corner of the hall. The Almost Secretary of Initiates' frowny bread loaf face suddenly seems to get tossed into a radioactive oven as it flares up with rage at the sight of the overgrown lizard. Glancing towards the Recruiter's Office, then the far corner of the hall where Wyvern sits, then the Recruiter's office again, Melba explodes and screams: "Wyvern, why aren't you supervising your Office?!" The reptilian Elder jumps upon hearing this exclamation, and accidentally sets off the intricately fabricated mousetrap that he had been constructing in the process. The movement of the small piece of cheese at Wyvern's feet causes a tiny current of static electricity to be sent through a set of wires, which move up along the righthand wall of the hall until they reach an exercise wheel containing a hamster that has been connected to the ceiling. The hamster sitting there is given a small electric shock, which causes it to start running on the wheel. This movement, in turn, activates a mechanical hand sitting next to a telephone, which proceeds to dial the number to Disney Land, Terra. Near a phone booth at Disney Land, Terra, a man dressed in a Mickey Mouse outfit races from a disaster involving a wraith dressed as Donald Duck, who is distributing death through hugs. Hearing the ring of the phone booth, Mickey postpones the calling of dominion security in order to execute his part of the mouse trap plan, quickly whipping out a cell and phoning up the headquarters of the Stuart Little fanclub. At Stuart Little headquarters, a man dressed in a dark shades, a dark overcoat, and a Stuart Little costume answers his cell phone, and smiles when he hears the familiar voice of agent Mickey over at Disney Land, Terra. "It's time." Agent Stuart squeaks in mouse code and nods, quickly reaching over to an emergency panel and pressing a red button labeled "Exterminate." At that moment, a man wearing a Chuck-E-Cheese outfit who is nestled in a bush at the outskirts of the Pen recieves a beep on his pager. It was time. Moving out of his bush, Agent Chuck-E stealthfully avoids the open front door of the Pen and fires a grappling hook out of his hand-cannon in order to connect with the guild's roof, swinging upwards and swiftly crashing through an extra-expensive window leading into the Cabaret Room. Taking out a simple mousetrap from the tail of his costume and searching the premises, the agent is let down when he see's no rats anywhere near the room. "What's going on here...?" mumbles the man to himself in a disappointed manner, scratching the left ear of his costume in confusion. Shrugging to himself and shaking his head, Agent Chuck-E suddenly notices a salami sandwich resting on a nearby table. His stomach grumbles at the sight of it, and he silently licks his lips... "Well, there doesn't seem to be any mice around here..." whispers the man to himself, approaching the sandwich "... finally, a real piece of food, not just some crummy, novelty pizza! I guess I'll just take this sandwich as a little souveni-" Agent Chuck-E is interrupted as he suddenly notices a Pen member, Aardvark, returning to the room for his sandwich. Cursing to himself frantically, the man drops the sandwich along with the mousetrap that he's holding and manages to escape just in the nick of time. Aardvark arrives back to his lunch with a soda, not noticing the mousetrap haphazardly planted between the sandwich's two slices of bread... Elsewhere... Wyvern rushes into the Recruiter's Office wearing a Pied Piper costume, complete with novelty feathered hat and disturbing green tights. Initiating plan B, the overgrown lizard takes out a flute and begins playing an out-of-tune melody on it in the hopes of attracting the rats and leading them out of the guild halls of the Pen. Unfortunatly, the reptilian Elder's horrible flute playing sparks a different tune entirely, which results in numerous panda bears becoming attracted to the melody and slowly marching towards the Pen. Fortunately, the overgrown lizard's costume is so wretched-looking that the rats are immediately scared away from the Office and the guild halls anyway. Swaying back and forth in exhaustian, Wyvern stamps the Grim Squeaker's application poem ACCEPTED and silently prays that the Endangered Species Coalition won't take the panda situation the wrong way before falling unconscious. ;-) OOC: A very witty and well-written application poem, Death of Rats... certainly ACCEPTED! Welcome to the Mighty Pen! I look forward to reading more of your writing, as well as participating with you in future community projects.
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