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[Dragoon Knight]

Alright, here's a brand new type of Fan Fiction for everyone.  Not everyone will like it, and probably no-one will participate, but that's alright.  This thread is simply a place to have fun with completely nonsensical events that tie together several posters.

RULES

1. There are no rules; anything goes.

2. Along the same vein, nothing works.  You can blow up the entire universe and it'll just pop right back.  Or maybe it will be replaced by a haddock named Nigel - who knows?

3. Keep things light; this is a thread based in creating fun in a board devoid of it for too long.

4. Invite others to join in!  All senses of humour welcomed.  The more the merrier!

That's it!  Let the posting begin!

[Dragoon Knight]

Dragoon Knight sat in his tower, which was located directly on top of Buckingham Palace.  The Queen had objected at first, but was soon silenced when she was launched into low orbit by one of the tower's many "defence mechanisms".  Londoners had learned to stay away from the blue edifice.

"Well I'm bored," he said.
"You could turn the clouds into marshmallows again, sir," replied Dirk, Dragoon Knight's first personal assistant.
"Naah," Dragoon Knight replied, "I'd get letters of complaint from the Diabetes charities again."
"What Diabetes Charities, sir?" asked Yves, Dragoon Knight's second personal assistant.  "You blew them all up."
"I may have done, I may have done..."

Just then, a loud explosion was heard just outside the tower window.  Yves went to investigate.
"Another message for you sir." he announced.
"I wish they'd stop sending carrier pigeons towards my windows - takes ages to clean the bird gore off my stonework afterwards."
"The Queen has landed in the South Pacific and is most perturbed."
"I imagine she is." Dragoon Knight yawned.
"Shall I arrange for her to be re-launched, sir?" asked Dirk.
"No need.  I'll deal with her if and when needed."
"Very good, sir."

Dragoon Knight sat back and exploded.

"WHAT THE FLYING GYPSY JUST HAPPENED?" he screamed, flying upwards at a great rate of knots.
"It appears that your tower exploded, sir," said Dirk, who was also flying upwards, but was strangely unruffled by the experience.
"By whom?!"
"I shall find out, sir," said Yves, who was on a similar vector until he unzipped the air, stepped into an elevator and began to descend, complete with annoying elevator music.
"By GOD they are in so much trouble when I land."

[Mihail]

Paul Newmann was strolling along the main alley in London, enjoying a sunny cloudy afternoon, when the Tower(as Londoners called it) exploded. Again. With a sigh, Paul swiftly took out his squidbrella and opened it, showering several nearby people with black ink. A moment later, the customary blue shards began to rain down on London. Those who weren't lucky enough to take cover and who were hit were teleported to the Waiting Room, where a large green neon sign awaited them; "Game Over", it said. The server list was quite large - India, South Africa, Canada, Barbados, Sweden, etc. - but it was always full. Sucks for them!
When the last of the shards tinkled down on the ground and promptly disappeared in a puff of(curiously enough) red smoke, Paul closed his squidbrella(which closed with a sigh, knowing that it was doomed to boredom until the next time something exploded) and went on his merry way, every once in a while drawing his revolver and shooting some poor bastard. He was on his way to the Colosseum, where there was supposed to be a great fight between dwarves and elves starting soon.

[Dragoon Knight]

Still ascending, contrary to all conventional "laws" (such as gravity), Dragoon Knight awaited Yves' return with mounting impatience, when reality unzipped in front of him again.  Out stepped Yves, carrying a litter of puppies.
"Are they responsible, Yves?" asked Dragoon Knight.
"No sir, they are cute," replied Yves.
Pulling out an oversized magnifying glass from his jacket pocket, Dirk confirmed this analysis.
"Very good.  Set them loose," Dragoon Knight commanded with a gesture of dismissal.
Yves promptly attached a small party balloon (which read "Happy 51st Birthday!!") to one of the puppies' collars and let them float downwards safely.  Since puppies were naturally magnetic, they would all stick together quite nicely.

Below, Londoners were celebrating the demise of The Tower, but also mourning the disappearance of a sizeable chunk of London as well.  The Queen had recently returned, looking slightly bemused, insisting that she had left the palace right there.
It was with considerable dismay, then, that the populace of London watched the chunks of tower begin to meld together once more; it was rebuilding itself.
Several people committed suicide right then and there, or at least attempted to.  All bridges had become inexplicably adhesive, prohibiting any jumping, and all vehicles were temporarily made of cheese and limited to walking pace.

"It's time to return to the surface and find out what the hell just happened," Dragoon Knight said, finishing a three-course meal that had always been there, at approximately 32,000 feet, waiting for this specific moment.  Fulfilled, the banquet ascended to Banquet Heaven.
"Yes, sir," chorused Dirk and Yves, prompting an immediate and most uncomfortable reverse of direction.
"I hate that part," complained Dragoon Knight, trying to re-arrange his internal organs so they were no longer aligned alphabetically.
"Very good sir," Dirk said, emphatically.
Soon, they would be back in London, and they could go about the business of making someone's life hell.

[Dante]

Dante was very upset.
"I am very upset!" He hollered, in his whiny little voice.
His new pink shoes had been scuffed in the explosion.
"My new- hey, that's not why I'm upset!"
His new, pastel pink, deliciously scented shoes made from the lovingly sweetened hides of only the cutest baby lambs with HUGE eyes.
"Goddammit, this isn't funny!"
The tiny lambs, most of which had names like 'Mary Twinklesworth' or 'Lovelypie Sparklecakes' had been snatched from their caring mother when only-
"Dante strangled the narrator with his own colon."
Argh-gurgle-choke-cough-Pleasedon'thurtmeI'llbegood.
"Yeah, that's right."
*Cough* Dante was very upset.
"Yeah, we dealt with that." He muttered, a dark glint in his eyes. Turning to face open sky, he glared up at the fictional narrator. "Start telling the story properly or I swear I will put your eyeballs inside your scrotum."
But I need my eyeballs to see.
"Just think what I'll do to your testicles."
There was a pause in the conversation as the narrator briefly considered all the possibilities running through Dante's sick, perverted-
"That's enough."
Dante was upset, and the reason was that there had been an explosion which he was not the cause of.
"What royal bastard has blown up the tower that is now standing again where once it was not?!" He yelled in his manly, awe-inspiring voice. "You're overdoing it now." Sorry.

Marching through London on the back of an elephant (he had to make several laps), Dante stood before the assembled tower and glared up it. The sunlight caught his hair, and shone upon the sweat that gleamed upon his rippling pectorals-
"I warned you!" He shouted, quickly putting on a shirt. Glaring directly into the sun, he immediately went super-blind, which is like normal blind except that you can see into the present and the future at the same time.
"My god, the onions!" He screamed, jumping off the elephant and running for the tower. It turned to face him with a disapproving hedgehog, which he named Clive.
"ANDWHYAREYOUAPPROACHINGTHETOWERTHETOWERWHYAREYOUTHETOWERAPPROACHINGGGGG?" Clive swelled to the size of a small car and grew fins.
"No." Said Dante, and punctured him.
"OHMYGODTHEONIONS." Wept Clive as he sunk into the marsh.
"That wasn't there before." Observed Dante, displaying a remarkable skill for stating the obvious for such a weedy little- "You just don't learn, do you?!"
There was now a sizable crowd of Londoners gathering around this spectacle of the man with the elephant. The elephant was selling tickets and sitting on people who wore Prada.
"Don't think you can distract me with my own elephant." Dante sad threateningly, just as Brad Pitt at age twenty five came sauntering through the crowd. "Ooh, you devious bastard."
Suddenly a man descended from the ground, an awkward entrance at the best of times.
"My name is Yves, I am here to make someone's life hell." He proclaimed in ancient assyrian.
"What do you mean onions?!" Shouted a man at the back.
"Exactly." Said Yves, and mushroomed out.
"That's interesting." Observed Dante, now thankfully distracted by the spectacle. "How exactly does one mushroom?"
"This is not getting us any closer to solving the mystery of who blew up the castle." Said the elephant, sipping tea.
"It's a tower." Said Yves.
"Not anymore!" Shouted  .
"Oh no, it's  ! My mortal enemy!"
Then the narrator grew bored and reset the whole situation.
"What?! Where's Brad?" Dante cried out, even as he could see that Brad Pitt at age twenty five was gone. He turned around to shout at the innocent narrator when the sight of a potted plant caught his attention.
"No it didn't, it's dull!"
It caught his attention and he went over to look at it.
"I did not!"
He examined it carefully, and could not help but feel aroused at the slender leaves and study stem.
"Stop that at once! I am not being turned on by a houseplant!"
Indeed, he knew that-
"Having finally had enough of these antics, Dante swapped the narrator's testicles and eyeballs with each other." Wurgle fub nar gurgle foo. "Having also taken the precaution of rearranging the brain-tongue and brain-anus efferent nerves of the aforementioned, Dante could finally look forward to continuing without any thoughtless interruptions from reality, fate, or any other form of controlling mechanism."
Yim nar splotch blort, akkie nim joogle far pimpips.
"The tower was tall and oblong, and shaped more than a little like a phallus."
"No it bloody isn't!"
"That was Dragoon Knight, exiting the phallus from an interestingly placed doorway."
"Why are you saying that? Who are you?"
"He asked, angrily. 'My name is Dante,' I said, waving my hand in a friendly manner."
"What are you describing that for? Why are you here?"
"Suddenly a package of magnetic puppies descended from the sky. Grabbing the nearest, I used it to invite myself in for tea."
"Would you like to come in for tea?"
"Why yes please."
"Jolly good. Oh, those are nice shoes."
"Thank you, they're lambskin."

Yeah. I can do this. 

[Dragoon Knight]

"Please, come in," Dragoon Knight said, without ever knowing quite why.  Dante obliged, entering the same door as Dragoon Knight had exited moments ago.  Unfortunately, the floor had been replaced with the gaping maw otherwise known as the Bridge of Khazad Dum, and Dante lost his footing due to it being made of jelly.
"Le aaaaaargh..." exclaimed an inexplicably French Dante, as he fell for 15 years (Gandalf didn't have a watch).
Calmly levitating back to the top floor of The Tower, Dragoon Knight was pleasantly surprised to see Dante waiting for him, munching away on the remains of a flux capacitor.
"Please don't do that," he stated.
"Oh, but I must," Dragoon Knight replied with a smile, "otherwise my guests would find my courtesy lacking."
As if in reply, Dante produced a bottle of vintage merlot and smashed it over the head of Dirk, who had been creeping up behind him with an assortment of menacing appetisers.
"Splendid," assured Dirk, before slowly disintegrating into a fine powder, which Yves promptly swept away.
Both Dragoon Knight and Dante waited patiently for a moment, continuing their conversation only when Yves turned into Dirk, and an ornate lamp turned into Yves.

"Now, to business," Dragoon Knight stated firmly, immediately causing Belgium to have never existed.
"I didn't blow up your tower this time," Dante said, slowly becoming two-dimensional.
"Then by BELGIUM who did?!"
"What's a Belgium?"
"Unimportant!" Dragoon Knight exclaimed, as Clive the Hedgehog exited the non-existent swamp and returned to Narnia.
"Excuse me," asked Paul Newmann, "do you mind?"
"Yes," replied Dante.
"No," replied Dragoon Knight.
"Vindaloo," said Bob Geldof, who was complaining about the day of the week.
"Fantastic," Paul said with a smile, "if you could just sign here?"
A small "For Sale" sign descended from a ceiling fan, and implanted itself in Paul's ledger.
"HA!" he shouted, as reality twisted and warped - the entire group was now at the Colosseum.

"Woah-oh-oh, WOAH-oh-oh!" Sir Bob wailed, as he was mauled to death by rabid elves.  Dragoon Knight began questioning the local Roman Emperor about the destruction of The Tower, while Dante went to check if one of the gladiators was Russell Crowe.  Yves and Dirk melted in unison, undulating off into the bleachers, while Paul set about securing refreshments for the group.

[chatfsh]

The fierce looking warrior stood before Buckingham Palace, clad only in red leather underwear, a cloak and sandals.
“Sparta! Sparta!” He shouted as he flung down his spear, whipped out his bow and arrow to fire off a few shots, which upon impact exploded into sand trout.  “Sparta, Sp-” he was distracted by an attractive dark skinned woman standing to his left.
“Is that who was responsible for this outrage,” she asked, peering up at the edifice that only moments ago had been destroyed.
“Ach, an American lass,” he said, striking a few poses, flexing his bulging muscles.
“You betcha,” she said offering her hand.  “Hwi Noree’s the name, traveling is my game.”
“Gerald Butler,” he replied, ceasing his posing long enough to shake her hand.  “Better known as King Leonidas from the movie 300.”
She grinned, but then her eyes went wide.  “Duck!” she said, pulling him down, just in time to dodge a menacing flock of crows.  “Corn, corn, corn!” they cawed as they flew over and pecked at the heads of the onlookers who were not quick enough to elude them.
One crow smashed into the window of a coffee shop and exploded into a flock of doves.
She looked into the shop window spotting Dragoon Knight and Dante assaulting one another with cups of scolding hot tea.  She smiled and waved pleasantly.  Dragoon waved back, but Dante sneered and flipped her  the bird.
“The knave!” Gerald said, suddenly wielding a war hammer.  “I’ll slay the buggers!”  Before she could stop him, he hurled the hammer with all his might, but it bounced off the glass being as the hammer was made of plastic.
Just then a police box appeared before them and out stepped a dapper looking British fellow in a brown pinstriped suit.
“Hwi, there you are!”  The man said, taking long angry strides toward her.  “I’ve scoured ten systems searching for you.”  He pulled his laser screwdriver from his pocket and began waving it at the palace.  “Aha, appears to be the work of the Warlohox.”
“The what?” Gerald said.
“No, Who,” replied Hwi, pointing her own laser screwdriver at the other man.
“Who?” Gerald said.
The man grinned expansively as he offered his hand.  “Yes, as in Dr. Who.”
“You’re a doctor?” Gerald frowned as he accepted his hand and looked at Hwi who was demurely sipping a Long Island Iced Tea beverage.  “Are you with him?”
“With who?”
“Yes.”
“Am I with Yes?  Can’t say I know the fellow.”
“No,” Gerald cried, and pointed at the doctor, “with him, Who!”
“With Who?” she laughed, “Of course not.  I’m his traveling companion is all.”  She leaned in, whispering to Gerald.  “He did kiss me once.  But when he was slipping me the tongue, turned out he was only slipping me a capsule full of secret information.”
“Blimey fool, that one,” Gerald said, wrapping a strong arm around her waist, pulling her close.  “Allow me to plant a proper kiss upon those inviting lips.”
“Take your hands off her,” the Doctor objected, but their attention was caught away when Dante ran passed them down the street, screaming as if his hair was on fire. His long legs churning, his arms flailing in the air as a crow sat upon his head trying to peck his eyes out.  Another one flew over him wearing a stylish hat and a pair of glasses.  “Get it off me, get it off me!” he screamed hysterically, batting at the crow.
Dragoon Knight came running after him, wielding a cricket bat.  “Hold on, I’m coming!”  But when he caught up with Dante, Dragoon was out of breath, so he leaned upon his bat for a moment of rest while Dante continued running around in wild circles.  The crows gathered at the spectacle, each eager for a morsel of flesh.  Finally, Dragoon approached and swung the bat at the crow with all his might.  Not being the sporty type, Dragoon completely missed the crow but succeeded in whacking Dante on the back of the head.  Dante dropped to the ground and dissolved into a pile of salt.
“Salt! Salt!” the crows cried as the black flock descended upon the remains of Dante and completely consumed him in a feeding frenzy. 
“Vile birds!” Dragoon screamed as he swung the bat at them. 
“Water, water!”  They now cawed as they quickly dispersed, but not before one of them landed on Dragoon’s shoulder, defecated then flew off.  Dragoon frowned and flicked the poop off onto the ground where it immediately transformed back into a disgruntled Dante.
“How humiliating!” Dante snatched the bat from Dragoon and cracked him over the head with it.  “You had that coming.  Don’t deny it.”
Just then the ground beneath them turned to quicksand, sucking them both down in a brilliant flash.
Hwi Noree shrugged, and only then noticed that Gerald was still holding her against his chest, his lips puckering near for a kiss.  She pushed him away.
“What? Are you not impressed by all this?” He began striking a series of muscleman poses again.
“Indeed, you are a most impressive specimen,” she confessed.  “But personally, I preferred you as the phantom of the opera.  You know with the formal wear and the quarter mask on your face.”  She grinned naughtily, “Now that was sexy as hell.”
“Ayyyyye,” he cocked his brow and smiled his most seductive smile. “I know exactly what the lady wants.”  He tapped his sandaled foot twice.  Poof! A green puff of smoke enveloped him.
Hwi looked on eagerly, anxious to see the phantom appear, but when the smoke dissolved, there was nothing but air where Gerald had been standing.
“What the-” Hwi exclaimed as she desperately waved her laser screwdriver at the empty space.  She turned a suspicious eye on the doctor.
“There’s no time for this, Hwi,” Doctor Who chastised as he grabbed her hand, and ran down the street with her in tow.
“Where are we going?” she asked despondently as she glanced back at where Gerald had been.
“Where else, but to save London from the Warlohox!”


Hee hee.  What a fun little diversion.

[Dragoon Knight]

Seated at the Colosseum, enjoying the popcorn and twiglets provided by a unusually kind Paul, Dragoon Knight turned off the projector.
"And that is why Doctor Who is banned from existing in all but three universes, and all Spartans are shot on sight."
As the projector folded in on itself, turning into a bottle of window cleaner, and the screen flapped away happily, both Dante and Paul looked confused.  Dirk and Yves looked suspicious, but they always looked that way.
"...", said Dante, bemused.
"Agreed!" Dragoon Knight emoted, igniting a jetpack and beginning one of several laps around the Colosseum itself.
"What sir is trying to say is that THERE ARE FOUR LIGHTS," Dirk said with determination.
"But did that actually happen?" asked Paul, who was rummaging in his pockets for something.
"Noooooooooo..." Yves trailed off, as he shrunk to the size of an atom, before splitting, causing London to explode, then instantly return to how it was.
"Stop being quantum about things!" Dragoon Knight shouted as he passed the group.

Paul had found what he was looking for - his revolver.  He immediately shot the entire crowd with one bullet.
"That's impossible," Dante said, making no attempt to explain how he currently existed in 48 dimensions and was tinted Uzrexel (the fourteenth colour).
"We require progression!  We are no closer to solving the mystery of The Tower's destruction!" Paul exclaimed.
"After the match, maybe," Dante said, having found a gladiator to play with.  The group continued watching the elves and dwarves fighting over the Bones of Geldof (which the dwarves had recycled as a fort).

[Dante]

"It is sometimes necessary," said Dante philosophically growing a beard, "to rise above the petty crowd in order to concentrate on greater things." He began to float serenely into the air.
"But the show isn't over." Dragoon protested, growing a beard of his own in competition.
"It never started." Dante shrugged, causing the entire edifice to revert back to 5am the previous day.
"Goddammit, must you do that to time?" Dragoon glared out from under a rock. "It makes my skin dry out."
"Yes will time can be pissy about some things." Dante shrugged. "However, now that we're in a time paradox I can discuss something in private."
"I'm actually still here." Paul raised a hand. Dante climbed some stairs very slowly.
"Anyway," he continued, "as I was saying I need to discuss something in private.
"I'm still here." Paul pointed out. Dante knocked a few apples down from a tree. He looked at Paul expectantly, who took a moment to realise what was expected of him before nodding and turning into a giant wasp.
"ARGHTHEWASPOHDEARGODWHY." Dragoon quickly hid behind a large jar of honey. Floating inside was Avril Lavigne, with whom he struck up a conversation.
"You leave me laughing on the floor." She said seriously, a bubble forming at her mouth. "Seriously, laughing. LAUGH-ING. Your ridiculous attempts to join the crowd and be even remotely funny are just coming across as the machinations of a sad, tired, bitter, withered old husk without anything better to do as the best days of your life are behind you and all you have to look forward to is a tunnel project which will suck away all your remaining happiness and never amount to anything without a talent that you just don't have. You should just go and leave those of us with talent, time and ability alone and go back to your self-imposed exile."
"Well that's not very nice." Dragoon Knight replied, and promptly let Paul the wasp devour her alive.
"A fun little diversion though." Dante said, puzzled as he was by Avril's shocking and unexpected turn of phrase. While Paul made short work of Avril, he took Dragoon aside and removed a shoe from his beard.
"I wonder how that got there." Said Dragoon.
"Quiet. Do you notice anything strange about this shoe?" Dante asked, one of his eyebrows rising quizzically above his head.
"It's pink." Dragoon observed. "Why is it that shoes around you are always-"
"It has no toes." Dante interrupted. And indeed, the shoe had no toes. It was a plain shoe that ended abruptly with a square. "Do you know what this means?"
"Why, yes. Yes I do." Dragoon replied seriously, taking the shoe from Dante. "It means that Roald Dahl's witches are in town!"
"I was going to say that you need a new cobbler, but that works too." Paul the wasp shrugged with all six legs.
"The witches look just like ordinary women, but they have no hair and no toes!" Dragoon said, briefly summarising all he could remember of the book.
"Indeed, they also have a great sense of smell and a penchant for evil." Dante nodded. Dragoon looked suspiciously at him, before giving his hair an experimental tug.
"I'm flattered, but also you notice not a witch." Dante deadpanned. He picked up the dead pan and shook it morosely.
"What are we to do with witches in the area? They look just like normal women in their first class wigs!" Dragoon moaned unhappily.
"Well, the first thing we should do is head someplace where they will never go." Dante thought. "I know! Witches can't stand the smell of children!"
"I've got it!" Beamed Dragoon, and teleported them into a playpark. It was filled with priests. "Damn, looks like everyone else had the same idea."
"In that case, we'll go to school!" Buzzed Paul happily. Exchanging looks of shared amusement and glee, Dante and Dragoon watched as the massive wasp flew toward the nearest government school, a shoebox just across the road. It wasn't long before screams emanated from within, but their expressions turned to horror as hundreds of wasps started to exit the shoebox.
"Oh my me, he's turned them all into wasps!" Dante shouted in alarm, quickly slipping inside a newspaper bag.
"I have a feeling we should be worried." Dragoon commented, plucking a wasp from the air and sampling it carefully. "Hmm, just as I thought. These wasps are GENETICALLY MODIFIED."
"And zat iz not all!" Both men looked up at the new voice, which came from a large woman with a moustache riding a milion wasps. "Behold! I am here tsoo take ovver ze city off Lon-don! HA!" She struck a swastika pose, which looked awkward.
"Oh. My. God." The two said in unison. "Nazi witches riding genetically modified wasps! ARGGHH!"
"Jah!" The witch crowed triumphantly, unbending her neck. "Und now zat I have your attenzion, I vill deztroy your tower vunz und for alle!"
"You mean it was YOU who blew it up?!" Dragoon shouted in outrage, summoning DirkYves.
"I voz trying to blow it down." The witch admitted sulkily. "But vhen I hoofed und I poofed drei kleine schweine came out und put a ticket on me. Zo I svitched to explosieves."
"Don't you mean explosives?" Dante asked carefully.
"Nein!" The witch grinned, launching a sieve in Dante's direction. With a yell he ducked, causing the instrument to whirl overhead and detonate over North Carolina. "Boy, I hope nobody important was there."
"Run!" Dragoon shouted, and the two took off. "I said run, not fly."
"This way is more fun." Dante shrugged. "And I did say we should rise above."
"Yes, I can't help but notice that you seem to have turned into Charles Darwin." Dragoon observed.
"Veni vedi vici." Darwin nodded sagely, before shedding his beard and turning back into Dante.
"Where now?" Asked a passing dove.
"To the Tower of London!" Dante grinned.


Quid pro quo.

[Dragoon Knight]

Dante, Dirk, Dragoon Knight, Paul the Wasp and Yves flew in alphabetical order towards the Tower of London. Dragoon Knight considered the confusion that must have been caused when he dubbed his tower "The Tower", but quickly dismissed this, as he was sure that most Londoners were able to tell the difference.
"Oh no," said Paul, who was inexplicably no longer a wasp, but now a plate of meringue, "there are guards! Guarding!"
Below, there was indeed several regiments of mecha-badgers and battle elks patrolling the area surrounding the Tower of London.
"This is a job for science!" Dragoon Knight grinned, opening a flap of skin on his right arm.
"OH SWEET MOTHER OF CTHULU, WRONG ARM." he blared, before opening a panel on his left wrist. Inside was the solution to all their problems.
Below, mass panic erupted as Dragoon Knight switched the setting from "Floor ON" to "Floor OFF", causing the earth's crust to enter standby mode. The giant, red LED that was The Tower (that is, Dragoon OH SOD IT, FIGURE IT OUT YOURSELVES AAAAARGH...)

...

... Yeah. The Tower had turned red.
"You realise that the Tower of London is now plummeting into an endless void of nothingness, from which there is no escape?" Paul asked, egg-whitedly.
"Yes," Dragoon Knight replied, still immensely pleased with the result.
"Why isn't The Tower falling?" Dante asked, before smiling with realisation.
"The power is yours!", said Captain Planet, who held the foundations of The Tower above his head.
"Yes yes, that's quite enough of that," said Dragoon Knight's old Primary Four teacher Mrs. Thompson, before slapping him on the head with a rolled up jotter and telling him to get back to work.

And there the story would have ended, were it not for the fact that it wasn't a story.
A rip opened in reality, in the stationery cupboard of the HUTS (yes, THE HUTS). Out stepped everyone.
The net result of 6 billion people stepping out of a stationary cupboard approximately 10 feet by 5 feet (all at the same time, no less) was that God got very annoyed.
Or, he would have, if he still existed. For you see, Dragoon Knight once went back to the beginning of time and left a cat with an infinite supply of food. Over the eons, this cat (named Mow) became so large and powerful that it finally managed to challenge God for supremacy of the universe. Mow won, ate God, ate Earth, then the entire cosmos, sparing only Elton John.
And Madonna, who hung on near Mow's tail, because no-one can stomach her.

"NAH." said .
"Not again!" shouted Dante, who existed once more, along with everything else.
"Don't worry, sir's friend. I shall deal with him," Yves smirked, and began to shave the wallpaper.
"Are we back in The Tower?" Paul asked, back in humanoid form.
"Why yes we are. How convenient," Dragoon Knight said, with a pointed look at the authors of this bastardisation of literature.
"Sir, the Tower of London is now witch-free, it would seem," Dirk pointed out, then in, then out, before completing the backwards Hokey-Cokey with vigour.
"Splendid," sighed Dragoon Knight, "but we still have to seek revenge on the be-Moustached Female Nazi Wasp-Witch."
"Your plan, sir?" Yves asked, mid-shave.
"Isn't it obvious?!" he shouted, which would have horrible repercussions for the group in 4,816 years' time, "Come! We swim!"

[chatfsh]

As the Doctor and Hwi flew above London on a tandem bicycle, Hwi asked, “Why are we flying above London on a tandem bicycle?”
The Doctor glanced over his shoulder at her. “The Tartus is being fumigated for fleas left by John Bigboote from the eighth dimension.”
“The bastard!”
At that moment, the Doctor swerved to avoid hitting a herd of roving  lumbricus terrestris.
“Eww! Worms, I hate worms!” She said as the herd lumbered by.  “Especially the arrogant type that float about thinking they own the skies.”
“Jelly Babies?” The Doctor said, offering her some from a crumpled white bag.
“Sure.” She popped one in her mouth and lifted her fingernail to allow the bubbles to escape.
“The Warlohox, beware of the Warlohox,” the herd sang in ominous tones as they munched on the Jelly Babies’ bubbles.
“I knew it!” exclaimed the Doctor.  “Though I still don’t know what would have provoked them to do such a horrible thing.  They’re usually a rather dull lot.”
Hwi became uncharacteristly quiet.
“Something wrong?”
“Doctor,” she said hesitantly, “if the Warlohox are truly responsible for the destruction of the tower…there is something that I should tell you.”
“In a moment, Hwi.  Right now I need you to pedal faster so that we can catch this wave!”
“Alright,” she said as she gripped the handled bars and pedaled for all she was worth.  Soon they began to rise higher as the wave swelled beneath them, lifting them at least fifty above the clouds.
“Righteous! Righteous!” the Doctor yelled before they started to descend to cloud level.  “Alright, what was it that you were about to say?”
“Yes, about the Warlohox…I think that I know what may have provoked one.”
The Doctor peered back at her cocking his brow.  “Oh? Do tell.  Cat!” He warned as they ran over the second flying feline that morning.
“I asked one to help me with a little project that I was working on because I thought that he displayed some talent, but he turned out to be a rather lazy and unreliable clod.  In retrospect, I think that this Warlohox was just trying to hitch his wagon to my star.  He thought that he could benefit from my talent and hard work while he sat on his ass and barely did a thing.”
The Doctor frowned.  “You do know that the Warlohox are not only known for being dull, but they are notoriously lazy and boring beyond belief.  Did you know that their stories are so painfully boring that they are used as a form of punishment on violent criminals?”
“Gods, no!” she shrieked.  “Even hardened criminals don’t deserve that kind of torture.”
“Yes, but it was finally banned because being forced to read Warlohoxian literature was deemed too cruel and unusual a punishment.”
She sighed.  “Well this particular Warlohox could have been a master tormentor.  I just read a bit he wrote this morning and found myself wanting to stab myself in the head, it was so mind numbingly boring, as was all his work.”
“Pedal faster, we’ve got a ramp up ahead,” he announced as his legs pumped madly.
Hwi pedaled hard as well.  They ascended the ramp and flew over 15 tractor trailers that just happened to me suspended in mid air.
“I do believe that’s a record!” he exclaimed as they rode down the opposite ramp.  “Now what exactly did you do to provoke this Warlohox? Cat!”
“Well, I had tried on a number of occasions to dismiss the Warlohox from my project due to his chronically deplorable work habits, but whenever I did, he groveled and begged me to keep him on, promising that he would work harder.  So I’d let him stay on out of the goodness of my heart.”
The Doctor gave her a skeptical look and they both had a hearty laugh at that concept.
“But recently I felt the need to dismiss him altogether and remained firm when he made attempts to weasel his way back in.”  She said, initially ignoring the horrible sound that the fourth cat made when they ran over it.  But the sound grew so loud that she made the Doctor put the bike in reverse so they could run over it again for good measure.
“Well I’m proud of you for sticking to your guns,” he said just as he reached up, grabbing a handful of cloud and began eating it.  “But obviously this Warlohox is not taking the abrupt dismissal very well.”
She laughed as they ran over yet another mangy, flying cat.  “Now he is hurling childish insults and claiming that it doesn’t affect him in the least.  But he doesn’t realize that these little outburst, jokes and constant denials only prove otherwise.  I really feel sorry for him.  He’s always been an egotistic, sadistic creature and I’m afraid that my dismissal has not only deflated his exaggerated sense of self, but may have pushed him over the edge.”
“So you think that’s why he blew up the tower,” the Doctor concluded.
“Could be, who knows?”  Her eyes fixed upon the massive object ahead.  “Doctor, is that what I think it is?”
“If you think it’s the Grand Canyon, then yes,” he replied calmly.
“What is the Grand Canyon doing in London?  In mid air?” 
He turned and gave her a puzzled look.
“Oh, right,” she said sheepishly.  “I know, I know.  Pump harder.”
“And after we make this jump,” the Doctor said, “I say we pay a little visit to this angry, twisted little Warlohox.  Cat!”


Disclaimer: I am pleased to report that no animals were (permanently) harmed in this production.

[Dante]

The Towers of London, both of them, were currently in use as venues for an Avril Lavinge concert. Both of them, at the same time. Having survived the attempted eating from Paul the wasp, the poor girl's grip on reality seemed to have suffered.
"So tell me, how is it that you are able to exist in two places at once?" Dragoon asked in a manner most civil.
"I thought we were just hanging out." Avril frowned in confusion, apparantly unaware that both of her hands were turning into penguins. "So why'd you kiss me on the mouth?"
"I didn't." Dragoon's eyebrows rose gently and started humming middle C.
"You thought the way you taste would get me high?" Avril sighed, and turned into a goldfish. "As if." She bubbled. "No matter what you say, you thought you could get into my pants, and in that you are sadly mistaken. Such a shame that you're so used to getting your own way that a bit of rejection sends you off the deep end."
"I don't remember that being in the lyrics." Dante's eyebrows hit E sharp.
"We're without a main act!" The stage manager screamed. "Summon the Kaiserchiefs!"
"It's clear to see that you've become obsessed. I've got to get this message to the press. That everyday I love you less and less." The new band recited carefully and clearly.
"Well I'm glad that's sorted." Dragoon beamed, his eyebrows returning to normal.
"Squared away. Squaaaaared away." Dante agreed.
"Ferret fact finding freezes frightened foes." Dragoon nodded.
"You're only too right." Dante was interrupted as suddenly everything turned green and coded. Figures moved in the mess, everything was green and black.
"Oh my god, it's the Matrix!" Someone shouted.
"No." Dragoon shook his coded head. He reached down to pick up the floor, ripping it up to reveal a swirling mass of pictures. A man with a dog, a tank firing on a pyramid of triangles, a smiling child, a cat with an amusing caption. "This is the Internet."
"Far more powerful than the Matrix." Dante nodded as code swirled apart around his shoulders to reveal documents, games, essays and more captioned cats. "The Matrix only simulated human life. The Internet collects everything it is to be human, all the love, hate, culture, war, news, science, the memes of the present and the lessons of the past. It shows humanity at its best," a picture of aid workers helping a struggling family evacuate before a volcano stramed past, "as well as at its worst." Violent pornography blared across the senses for a moment. Abruptly the images shifted to pink ducks, falling upwards as the floor became sandy and the walls turned to tofu.
"In the arena of medicine, I will pound you into the dirt." Hippocrates glared down from a postage stamp.
"In the arena of biology we stand as kings." Darwin and Mendel adjusted their crowns and patted each other on the knees.
"In the arena of philosophy, I had a decent crack at it!" Socrates danced the highland fling.
"But this is the Internet." Dante grew tall and sinister, somehow managing this despite having aquired a pink duck on his head. "The Internet is my arena, it is my battleground and I know the terrain, I know the tactics, I know the little ways far better than you. What do you think you can do to hurt me? You can't hurt me. But I can hurt you, oh yes I can." He produced a sheaf of papers. "Hippocrates! Here I have your letter that suggests the brain is really made of cream cheese!"
"But- but I never meant it!" The be-bearded Greek wailed.
"Too bad, you wrote it." Dante grinned. "Next, Mendel, I have this letter confessing your love for a swan!"
"She rejected me because I'm not a swan!" The german monk sniffled.
"Yeah well serves you right for being a jar of ants." Dante sniffed, causing a few of the Mendels to twitch their antennae.
"Um." Darwin shuffled off this mortal coil.
"That's ok, you're very inoffensive." Dante nodded. "Now Socrates, according to this communication I received from you, you've been selling philosophical secrets to the mafia."
"I- but- no! You have to save me!" Socrates cried.
"Yes, well, one of us has friends who love him and it isn't you." Dante grinned evilly. "You could have just left me alone, but you had to interfere, didn't you? You had to stick your nose in where it isn't welcome and vomit all over the work of your betters. Well, if you're going to cry and fuss and throw a tantrum when you could just go back to your own corner of the world, so be it. This letter may accidentally find itself on the front page of a website."
"Boring, dull, boring, boring, deplorable, boring, dull, dull..." Dragoon muttered, flicking through a manuscript of some sort while Socrates collapsed into a whelk.
"Not an exciting read?" The jar of ants asked, devouring the remains of his pet apple.
"Hmm?" Dragoon spun 1080 degrees, "Well, yes and no... and TRIREME. Reading aloud, really," he continued, looking up above. The ants looked as well, but saw nothing. "Most repetitive and unimaginative."
"LET US PROCEED." Dante said, taking the book and throwing it into the same swamp that Clive was in so recently.
"...You never do that to books," Dragoon Knight pondered to himself, not knowing of Dante's SUPER-DEAFNESS (which is like normal deaf, except you can hear everything, ever).
"Crappy author. Also made of cabbage." Dante replied as the book sunk, the swamp seeming to welcome it home. The words 'Babble Aquatica' were on the front.
"What a way to start the day..." sighed Paul.
"It's a quarter to ten at night!" screamed Medusa.
"!" said the statue of Paul.
"Grammar!" Dante tore out a hare.
"She's at home, with Grandda." Said the hare, replacing its monocle.
"SYKES!"

Meanwhile, on the other side of London...

"OCH CRIVINS!" Sykes the gardender swore as his spine siezed up and he curled into a muffin.

Back in the Internet...

"Can you cancan?" Paul asked seriously, seriously asking a question that was seriously serious.
"I can cancan, an' the toucan can cancan too." Dante nodded, causing the duck on his head to sprout.
"I say, your duck has sprouted." Dragoon commented. "Congratulations, you have a bumper crop of VOODOO."
"VOODOO?" Dante asked in horror. "Who do?"
"You do."
"I do voodoo?"
"Who do voodoo?"
"We all do voodoo!" The duck finally had enough of this and marched off in goose step. For this it was later hung, drawn and sketched before teatime by the other ducks and one very confused weasel.
"I do doodle. You do doodle too." The weasel said defensively.
"Why yes. Yes." The universe imploded.
"Someone forgot to turn the pressure on!" the endless vacuum did not hear or say or experience in any way. A hand that certainly did not exist did not flick a non-existant switch. The universe divided by binary fission.
"Our universe is asexual." Dante observed. "And I cannot help but notice that it seems to be a muffin."
"OCH CRIVINS!" Said the universe, to the merriment of all.
"You are old, Father William, the young man said. And your hair is incredably white. And yet you insist that you stand on your head, do you think at your age it is right?" Dante read from a book of poetry.
"You hate poetry." Dragoon frowned, his eyes getting tired and retreating into his skull for a nap.
"Exactly as as kings." Dante shrugged. "Feeling full for it. Exactitude as kings. So to beseech you as full as for it. Exactly or as kings. Shutters shut and open so do queens. Shutters shut and shutters and so shutters shut and shutters and so and so shutters and so shutters shut and so shutters shut and shutters and so. And so shutters shut and so and also. And also and so and so and also." Dragoon's head returned from the spiral which it had spun.
"What in the multitude of resplendent pencil leads was that all about?" He spoke with his shins.
"Ow." Said Dante. "I was reading some Gertrude Stein."
"The attention is appreciated." Gertrude Stein nodded appreciatively, before flying away on a mongoose.
"That reminds me, where is thw nazi witch riding genetically modified bees?" Paul asked quietly, for his voice was now on volume control.
"She's serving pancakes in a butcher's shop now." Dante smiled a smile of butter. It melted.
"She realised that she was outnumbered, outmatched, and had a laughable accent." Dragoon nodded two of his twelve heads.

Meanwhile, back in the blue tower...

"I say, isn't it nice when life is perfectly normal?" Dirk asked, moving King's rook to D4.
"Most enjoyable, you are quite right." Yves replied. He noticed checkmate to Dirk in two moves. "I'm afraid I have to stab you in the eyeballs now."
"Fair enough." Dirk morphed into a mammoth.



Nemo  me impune lacessit.

[chatfsh]

Now SHE laughed and laughed. 
“Hwi, I’ve never seen you laugh so hard?” the Doctor said as they landed upon the sidewalk that immediately began to move forward as the sky turned to lime sorbet.
“I just realized that we’ve been running over the same cat that whole time.  He just kept switching colors.”
“You don’t care for cats, do you?” he asked as they skipped down the moving sidewalk.
“Hey, you were the one driving, remember?” she said as he twirled and dipped her.
“But you were the one who kept insisting that we run over them twice,” he pointed out, wearing a stylish watch made of bleached beaver teeth.
“You know how cats are, all gibber jab, gibber jab.  They are overly fond of the sound of their own voices.  Which would not be so bad if their words actually contained some substance or originality.  So occasionally, I get a kick out of taking the beast down a notch or two.” She wriggled her finger, beckoning him to come closer.  “Want to know how many cats I’ve killed with a rhinoceros?”
“A rhinoceros, eh?”  he inquired.  “Don’t you think you’re being a little hard on the creatures?  I mean, they are just stupid animals?” 
They both stepped aside to allow the clown to pass, after all he was walking upside down with the aid of heavy gravity boots.
“Can’t this sidewalk move any faster,” she asked.  “We need to question the Warlohox before he leaves for his lobotomy.”
“Hey, you no lobotomy and I no loboto you.”
She cringed and her teeth cracked to be replaced with a new set.
“Well, we could do supersonic back flips all the way there.”
“Excellent idea!”  She clapped her hands joyously.  “Ready, set, go!”
They flipped at incredible speeds, covering half a mile with each revolution.  On her second flip, Hwi landed on a cat’s tail.
“Yeowwww!  I’ll expose you, I will!” It screamed in its high pitched cat voice.
“Ooooh, the little putty cat is THREATENING me,” she said in a strange baby voice.  “How predictable.  That’s the second exposure threat that I have received from a cat in the last six months.”
“Pissing off a lot of cats, are you?” 
She smirked.  “It’s an acquired skill.” Then they stopped to watch a beautiful red woman give birth to a full grown shadow warrior. 
It stood and spoke with a voice that sounded like he’d been inhaling helium.  “The woman loved a cat once, still does, I suspect.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Hwi said.
“Look, it’s Rose, Rose, Rose, Rose and Rose from a parallel dimension,” he said, pointing at the pretty blond women hovering above a lamp post doing a little soft shoe number.
“Oi, the great love of your life.  But isn’t she with your evil twin now or are you the evil twin?”
He grinned sinisterly.  “You haven’t figured it out yet?”
“WHY ARE YOU HERE?!” the Roses bullied innocent Hwi.
“Oh, just having a little fun, girls,” she winked, squirting them with black ink.  “Besides, I rather like it here.”
“Flip off!!” All five Roses screamed at her.
“Now that’s not very nice.”  Hwi snapped her fingers at the shadow warrior.  “Off with their heads,” she commanded.
The warrior immediately picked up the same unlucky cat and lopped the Roses' heads off with it.
“Very good then,” Hwi said.  “We’d best be on our way.  The Warlohox desperately needs that lobotomy. 
So they kept flipping a half mile at a time.
“So, back to the cats,” the Doctor said, forgetting that the love of his life just had her head chopped off five times.  “Aren’t you afraid of the cat’s threats?”
Hwi placed a finger upon her lips and giggled.  “The cats think they have a smokin’ gun.  Something to really nail me to the wall.”  Just then five nails hit the wall.
“Well don’t they? I mean you did injure those innocent cats.”
“I needed a clean way out of a situation.  So I did the one thing that I knew would achieve that goal.” She flashed a killer smile.  “Mission accomplished.”
“So you’re saying it was only a tool, and a clever means to an end?”
“Indeed, and if the cats had any sense at all, they would have figured that out a long time ago.”  She stuck her tongue out at him and continued flipping toward the giant combat boot where all Warlohoxes were known to reside.

[Dragoon Knight]

Dragoon Knight was very confused - the sky seemed to be raining venom.  He considered the rules, commanding from on high, and decided that all your base are belong to us.
"Oh please don't tell me you just used that tired old meme," said The Internet.
"Plato!" cried a frightened Paul Newmann, who had long ago been a thing.  Without any warning, the Realm of the Forms happened.
"I knew it!" Dragoon Knight exclaimed, punching the air, which punched back, but (after a brief sparring session) eventually lost to the combined forces of Yves and the Dirk-Mammoth.
"Knew what, and biblically or not?" Dante queried, typewriter on standby.
"It's blue - the Realm of the Forms is blue!"

The Form of Cackling began to ring throughout the Form of a Hall that the group were currently in.  From the Form of the Floor arose a the Form of a Mosaic, which presently erupted into several billion gallons of jam.  Sorry, Form of Jam.
"I've had enough of these forms," muttered the Form of a Disgruntled Office Worker, who gathered up the entire Realm and placed it in the Form of a Shredder.
This, of course, caused a paradox, causing all involved to briefly emerge in a tardis.
"Oh it's you," said Doctor Who, gesturing to the group as a whole.
"Look, why are you-" Dragoon Knight began, before being accosted by an envelope filled with wine.
"The Woe-Post!  Unhand him!" blared Dirk, who was no longer a mammoth.  Using Yves as an impromptu weapon, he bludgeoned the Woe-Post until it released a snoozing Dragoon Knight.
"Are you alright?" asked Paul.
"The horrors you must have witnessed!" said Dante, who had eaten his left arm.
"Pretty tame, nothing I haven't seen before," he shrugged.

"GET OUT OF MY TARDIS" stomped Doctor Who.
"Look, I've had quite enough of you," said    , who had returned once again.
"Damn you,    !" Dante shouted, barely held back by Dirk and Yves.
"" said a new arrival.  Everyone paused to witness the entry of this dread form.
"Oh.  Oh no," Dragoon Knight said, before teleporting the entourage away, leaving nothing but a bit of paper.
";D" said the dark, menacing shape as he inched his way towards the Doctor.
Picking up the slip of paper, the Doctor read, "Here's to Number elev-" before another "Doctor" began his work.
Later, in the middle of Oxford Street, pedestrians were forced to agree that Doctor Proctor's surgery was simply fantastic.

[Dante]

"OH I love magic maths, I love maths I do. Mathematics is dramatic, I so love maths I do!" Sang Winifred the warbling wombat. Dante and company clapped politely as she took a bow and exited the stage. The piantist struck up a tune from his keys, which might have been more impressive if they hadn't been rabid octopi. The result was still entertaining though, and the trio sat at their table and sipped their drinks. They tried to ignore the fact that their drinks sometimes sipped back.
"So why did you build a tower in London anyway?" Paul asked through a haze of maize.
"I shall answer, in the form of BRAILLE." Dragoon grinned fiercely, proceeding to poke a rapid series of staccato beats into his forehead. Paul looked dazed, and a smidge brain damaged, but all that was sorted out with a quick bit of Italian flyswatting.
"I see." He said in the voice of the truly enlightened, which sounds remarkably like the voice of the truly concussed. "I can see CLEARLY now the rain has gone." He was immediately set upon by a feral copyright.
"How did that get in here?!" Dante shouted.
"I let it in, HA!" Shouted the swastika-posing nazi witch riding genetically modified wasps, before going back to her job as a cocktail waitress.
"Standards are slipping all over." Dragoon shook his head sadly as Paul's spleen ran down the wall behind him.
"SPLEEN?" Shouted the spleen, squelching into a vent.
"Does that mean the spleen is vented, or in the process of venting?" Dante put a small shark into Dragoon's drink.
"Well old boy, I should say that OMNOMNOMNOMNOMNOM." The shark replied, chewing its way through the glass and into Dragoon, where it pulled a lever.
"Earth!" Dragoon shouted.
"Fire!" Paul cried, crawling up from under the table.
"VEEND!" Shouted the swastika-posing nazi witch riding genetically modified wasps.
"Water!" The shark added.
"Slood!" Dante grinned. "What? It's harder to discover than fire, but only slightly easier to discover than water..." He trailed off in the face of the rabid copyright.
"SPLEEN!" The spleen shot out of the vent and back into Paul, who patted it into place and quieted his skitterish lungs with a slap.
"By your powers combined I am KIDNEY FAILURE." He announced, collapsing to the floor and bubbling gently. Abruptly the lounge slipped away into the ground, to reveal an icecap. Dragoon put it on and shivered.
"So I found this book in the retard." Paul shook his head in confusion.
"Tardis." Dragoon corrected.
"Same thing." Paul shrugged. "Anyway, this book talks about these two chicks, Malky and Musy, and they're putting on a play together."
"Right." Dante nodded, shaking a spear.
"Wrong." Dragoon contested, marring a low. The two fought briefly with spoons until Pythagoras emerged the victor.
"Now Musy's the one with all the talants, which is a kind of Persian coin, but Malky wants rid of her because she's afraid of having to share the money. I mean glory." Paul squints at the book, trying to speak in the past tense again. "Sorry, translating this from ancient Jibberjunk is a bit tricky. So what Malky does is she hatches an elaborate plot that will shock Musy so much that she'll leave the theatre. Now the plot is sprung well, and Musy recoils at once, but she says she's prepared to forgive Malky and that they can work together again."
"I fail to see the point in all this." Said a blind man.
Well, Malky can't think of a way to get out of it, so she banishes Musy from the theatre and claims that Musy's recoil is the reason why. But then when they run into each other in a bar years later Malky confesses that all she really wanted from Musy was love, and drove her out for being unable to give it."
"Why are you telling us all this? It's freakishly absurd." Dragoon calmed down at twice. A small cloud hovered by his shoulder. "Oh I say, what's this?"
"That's my bluff." Dante smiled, petting the cloud gently. "It always comes when called, so do try not to speak too loud."
"It's just that, what I really don't get is, was Malky telling the truth or not?" Paul wailed. "I don't know, it's never explained!"
"Well that's easy." Dragoon said, putting on his Einstein hat while Dante drew a blackboard out of a pigeon. "Let us say that x equals negative B plus or minus the square root of negative four."
"WRAWNG." The blackboard spat out a chalk, and then some cheese for good measure.
"Look, it's quite simple." Dragoon twiddled his moustache. "It doesn't matter whether Malky was telling the truth or not. Librarians have agreed about that for months. I mean centuries. What matters is that her statements are contradictory and therefore on at least one occasion she was lying, underhandedly attempting to remove her partner when all she really needed to do was ask nicely."
"It's especially odd since in the preceeding volume the two of them were getting on very well, having finished one production and written the script for a third." Dante nodded. "Musy actually allowed Malky into her house, a rare sign of trust for their people which was abruptly thrown in her face soon after." He turned and found Dragoon throwing his face. "Do be careful with that, it's not a discus."
"The language is so strange." Paul commented, turning the book on its side. "See here, 'Sex was strictly for my benefit-once you get past the smell, scarred breast, fungus left foot toes, extremely large arms, and wig/hair tract-white boy, it's done.' I mean, what's that supposed to mean? Is that the kind of thing you really want people reading about?"
"I'm sure there's much more where that came from." Dragoon rolled his eyes. Dante rolled them back, and he put them back into his head. "Lets just move on, we have important things to do."
"We do?" Dante seemed confused, possibly because Dragoon was alone in a small dark room. He immediately developed the film and found himself looking at a picture of the inside of a two dimensional object.
"Nosebishops." He swore quietly, as the room slowly started to revolve. Thinking quickly, Dragoon lopped off the r and the room immediately began evolving. It evolved into a bear, which gave birth using BEAR POWERS. Then Dragoon burst from its brain case.
"Mah." Said the bear cub.
"Oh you poor little thing." Dragoon said, and fed it to Mow.
"I can't help but notice that Mow." Dante observed, having been waiting in this exact spot for this exact moment for ten BILLION yeats. Yeats is like years, but more lyrical.
"Mow is a kitty." Dragoon beamed, only proving that intelligence of phrase is negatively correlated with proximity to an adorable cat.
"Yes, don't you fear for him, out in the big bad world with only Madonna for company?" Dante asked quizzically.
"Pow bam." Dragoon shook his head, which was 'not at all, for you forget that cats have claws' in no language whatsoever.
Somehow or other Paul still managed to follow them into a dimension where TIME HAS NO MEANING.

"Boy, this German class goes on forever." Dragoon observed.
"Hang on a minute," Dante interjected, hanging on a moment which was below industry standards, "you took French!"
"No no, I took the French." Dragoon corrected, pointing to a small glass case in which was the entire population of France.
"I took the pith." Paul added glumly, holding an empty orange peel and a snazzy hat.
"EXCELLENT!" Shouted a Spanish woman as she launched herself through the door and into the wall. In a muffled voice she continued, "We need someone to join the march of the Toreadors!"
"Most excellent!" Bill and Ted agreed. Dante and Dragoon exchanged glances before quietly slipping out a back window. There they found themselves in the slightly more austere march of the Tremere.
"Oop." Paul nodded, disguising himself as a layer of green paint.
"NOT green." Dragoon complained. "BLOO." And then the world turned cuboid.

[chatfsh]

“Well, that was a dead end,” the Doctor said as he and Hwi exited the dirty combat boot. 
“I don’t agree,” she said as they slid into a large bowl and paddled down a fudge swirl river, using giant spoons for paddles.
“Hwi the Warlohox sounded pretty innocent,” the Doctor said, popping open an umbrella when it began raining vanilla sprinkles. “I don’t think that specific Warlohox blew up the tower.”
“Don’t be fooled by the act, he’s a self-proclaimed sadistic bastard.”
“Hmm, he seemed to imply that you were the deceitful one.”
“That’s a matter of opinion and perspective.”  She leaned back opening her mouth wide to catch some sprinkles.  But the cat sprung out of it and stole the sprinkles from her.  “Freakin’ cat!”
“But did you really do that?  Did you really send the note saying all those horrible things about yourself?”
She smirked.  “Well, I had a little help from a friend who took some liberties.  Rest assured that I smacked the hell out of her when I got home.”
“The tangled webs we….” He shook his head and John Bigboote fell out of it, but he promised to take a turn at rowing.  “Why did you do it, Hwi?”
She shrugged, “I told you that I did try doing it the nice way.  It just wasn’t as easy as it sounds.  He can be tenacious.  I don’t think that doing anything short of what I did would have worked.”
“Fair enough,” he replied and tried to ignore John as he made off to the eighth dimension.  “But if you could do things all over again, would you have done anything differently?”
She thought for a moment, then nodded.  “Yes, I would have.  The first time that he wrote to tell me how promising my talent was and asked me to join their little games,  I would have thanked him kindly for the compliment, but would have declined to join and refused to correspond with him any further.  In other words, I should have treated him like just another fan.”
The Doctor looked up to see the puppies floating by attached to a balloon.  “Oh, look at the puppies.”
Hwi pointed her laser screwdriver at the balloon and popped it.  “Puppies are gone, now pay attention.”
“Bossy little thing, aren’t you?”
“And you thought Donna was bad,” she said, picking up the spoon paddle.  “We’ve got to get back to the tower to investigate.”
“But…the Warlohox.  He asked you to leave London.”
Hwi place a hand on her hip, then glanced down and realized it wasn’t her hand so tossed it overboard.  “The last time that I checked, that Warlohox does not own London.  I have just as much right to be here as he does.  If he’s uncomfortable with that then I suggest that HE leave.”
“But he’s been here longer and has more friends.”
“Your point?” she said as she slid over to make room for her servant, the shadow warrior.
“Uh, no point.”
She grinned slyly.  “That’s what I thought.  Now let’s go solve the mystery.”

[Dante]

"Oh say can you SEEEEEEEE." Dragoon smashed a glass.
"No." The blind man answered grimly.
"Oh." Dragoon seemed disappointed. "I am so very sorry. Here, have this." He reverentially stuck a nose to the blind man's forehead.
"I can't help but notice that the world appears to be cuboidular." Dante observed. "Also my head appears to be full of lightning." Dragoon leaned over to peer into his ear.
"No, that's just rain in your hat." He assured.
"TIMING." Paul added.
"THAI MING." Dante contradicted. He was immediately accosted by Ming the Merciless, cheap version for low-budget fanfics.
"...It appears to be a vase with a moustache." Dante was confused.
"OCH ME SHARDS O' POWERRRRRR." Ming the Merciless minged. Or is it mung?
"Wrong story." Dragoon lamented.
"Are you Scottish or Honduran?" Paul inquired inquisitively.
"FOR HE MIGHT HAVE BEEN A RUSSIAN, A FRENCH, A TURK OR PRUSSIAN. HE REMAINS A HINGLISHMAN!" Dante burst into gong.
"HE REMAINS AN IIIiiiiiiIIIIIING-LISHMAN!" Dragoon rocked on.
"Actually I'm Nigerian." MtM spoke up, before exploding.
"Thank god it wasn't a concrete donkey!" Dante breathed a pie of relief, choking slightly.
"Or an Indian nuclear test." Dragoon nodded, sampling a cake of indiscretion.
"Thirty four or actually as four. Nine. Ten twelve eleven at the baked goods factory. Nigh. For cranking is to cranking what kraken should rhyme with parken, not bacon or crackle." Dante said wisely, and it must have been wise because he was wearing glasses.
"French or Turk or Prussian." Dragoon agreed.
"We are young, we are free." Paul grinned. "See our friends, see the sights, feel alright." A troubled expression crossed his face. "I'm still worried about that book you know."
"Can you still not figure out the plot?" Dragoon sighed a sigh of FEATHER DUSTERS. "Falafelafelafelafelafelafelalbuquerque."
"Well see here, see what you think." Paul pulled the book from his trousers, where it had been keeping warm. "I'll quote from chapter 1: But once I’m done, here’s the problem.  Although I’ve written about 350 pages into Part II, they are not sequential passages telling one story.  It’s more like a series of short events happening but chronologically, the order is still not established.  The other problem is that there are so many different directions the story could take.  I wasn’t really married to any one particular path, so I wrote along a couple.  As a result, some of what I’ve written won’t make the final cut depending on which plot I decide to stick with.  I’m hitting a wall, there are so many fun things I can do in the next leg of the story, but I need someone to help me brainstorm and strategize it. Help!!

Yes, I’m asking you to help me with this.  The way I figured it could work is --once you get to the end, that is--think about what the natural progression of the story should be.  I’ll send you some of what I’ve written and share my ideas for the various plots, and you let me know what you think.  Let me know what works and what doesn’t, make plot and character development recommendations that sort of thing.  Sort of what you’ve been doing all along, only this time your opinions and suggestions may actually affect the design and outcome of the story.  I think it would be a fun writing project."

"I see." Dragoon pursed his lips. Dante slipped a coin into them and won a fiver when he pressed the button.
"I DON'T." The blind man pointed out. "Though I am rather pleased with my new nooooooooooooooo-" He trailed off, having been pushed off a nearby cliff by Paul.
"You know prussian blue? Lovely colour." Dante brought up, along with his lunch.
"You probably shouldn't eat it though." Dragoon shook his head. "Now Paul, about this book-"
"What book?" Paul squinted. "I can't even read."
"...Very good." Dragoon nodded, with Yves and Drik nodding in perfect unison behind him. He paused. "DRIK?!"
"Curses, rumbled!" Dirk's evil twin Drik exited stage left, pursued by a collapsed soufflé.
"REVENGE." The soufflé bubbled.
"Well don't let me out of your sight." George W Bush traipsed through the scene. "Well I'm just a girl, I'd rather not be, 'cos they won't let me drive it at night."
"Just your typical prototype." Dante nodded, jiving to the beat.
"Ciao chow Chad."
"Exuberently."
"...So what happens now?"
"We join the march of the Tremere!"
"Wait, who said that?"
"I don't know, are you Paul?"
"No, I'm Paul."
"Who am I?"
"Otto von Bismark."
"FANTASTISCH!"
"Pie."
"What kind of pie?"
"Humble."
"The cook had a stumble and jumbled crumble in your umble."
"...Yes."
Dante looked up to find the other two looking at him very strangely. "Um... April Fool's?"
"IT'S OCTOBER YOU LINE DANCING SPIDER." Nobody said.
"Yee-hah!" Everyone danced in a line. It was the cancan, but they wore stetsons anyway.

[chatfsh]

“Très bizarre, très bizarre,” Hwi said as she looked at the judge wearing a wig fashioned from white powdered donuts.
“Très true, but is it zoo?!” he bellowed.
“Like DUH,” said the coo-coo-cachoo wearing a blue tutu.  “She like totally said that already.”
The judge melted into ooze and slithered through his own ears.  “Read the transcript!”
Caramel sundaes floated toward the ceiling and formed the letters “I asked one to help me with a little project that I was working on because I thought that he displayed some talent,"
“Gooooo Hwi!!” The popcorn cheerleaders leapt high and flew out the window powered by their own flatulence.
“Gross.”
“Overruled!” The judge said, slamming his salmon gavel on the bailiff’s neck.  “Order in the court.”
“What are we doing in court?” the Doctor inquired as they swung from the chair suspended from the shadow warrior’s long black hair.
“Apparently, in this place, a little good-natured ribbing lands you in the pokey,” she shrugged.  “Who knew?”
“Hoonoo,” at your service m’lady.
“Knightslayer!” Hwi shouted up at the shadow warrior.
He flew down and spoke in the same helium altered voice.  “What is thy bidding, my mistress?”
“Two things,” she declared to her realm of wombats.  “First, what can be done about that mousey voice of yours?”
His black eyes blackened against the black blackness of the red highlights.  “What mousey voice?” he piped.
“Nevermind.  Onto number four hundred and fifty nine,” she announced.  “I’ve had enough of this kangaroo court.”  Tempting, but avoid the obvious here.  “An exit, if you will.”
“Lady Hwi!” the judge bellowed, white powder spilling from his lips.
“Weeeeee!!” cried the demonic choir.
“Hello boys,” she gave them a coy smile, then kicked them back from whence they came.
“Hwi,” the Doctor’s brows arched high in that manic way that his brows tend to arch.  “Don’t forget about the tower. We have a mystery to solve.  Think of the viewers!” he said, pointing to the screen.
She looked out as well.  “Oh, hello boys!” she grinned as she cocked her foot back.
“Hwi, don’t kick the screen,” the Doctor said, pulling her back.
“Watch out for the green spleen!” Piped  Knightslayer.
They ducked just in time, but the judged opened his mouth wide gulping down everyone of the lean, mean, green, spleen…from Aberdeen. Yay!
“Lady Hwi,” the judge said, smacking fat, red lips, then he smacked his own lips.  “Please, produce the missive authored by the gallant Sir Warlohox.”
She frowned as she checked her pockets only to retrieve more Jelly Babies.  “Jelly Baby?” she said to the Doctor.
“Not now, Hwi,” he said with furrowed brow before shoving them all into his mouth and releasing the bubbles from his big toe.
“The Warlohox, beware of the Warlohox,” said the giant lumbricus terrestris as it snapped at the bubbles.
“At least they’re crawling this time,” she whispered to the Doctor.  “Arrogant bastards.”
“Lady Hwi, the letter!” The judge belched the green spleen from Aberdeen.
She shrugged.  “Begging your pardon, your honor, but the storage unit in which I stored my early fan mail was utterly destroyed.”  Snickers arose. 
The judge gave her a look of cynicism that caused a schism in the prism, my shizzo.  My what?!!
“You’d have us believe that the brave Sir Warlohox was a fan of yours.”
“Maestro, please,” Hwi said as the dolphin quartet began to play a shark inspired tune.
“Ate me old cousin, Rolf, ’e did,” said the lead dolphin. 
“Liar,” his old cousin said, “I’m standin’ roite next ‘t ye, ya dolt.”
“Anyway, I had just enjoyed a night out for dinner and drinks with some good friend, celebrating the release of my first project.”
“Why wasn’t I invited?” the Doctor asked pouting.
“There, there, good Doctor,” she consoled him.  “You were off fighting the Daleks.”
“Aye, that I was.”
“When I returned to my home, I found messages from three Warlohoxes each asking me to join their current writing games.”
“Wouldn’t you rather have been fighting the Daleks?”  the Doctor said looking truly disappointed.
“After all the hard work on my project, I looked forward to this quaint diversion.  Two of the notes were very short.  Something to the effect of….“I like your story and your style.  Would you like to play games with us?””  She looked up at the Doctor.  “Cute, right?”
“Perfectly adorable.”
“But the third Warlohox’s letter was the longest of all, if not the most charming.  He started out saying something about how introductions were such awkward things, but he politely introduced himself, then went on about how I was the most promising talent he had seen in quite some time.  He concluded by inviting me to join in their writing games.  In absence of the actual letter, I would have you consider another message of the third Warlohox.
It seems we have had a swift preview of some new blood. ... I am of course referring to xxxx’s  entry into the yyyy. I actually quite liked it.
Yeah, shocking, I know.
So anyway... There were a few instances where the grammar was untidy; not 'wrong' exactly, just a little awkward. But other than that, no glaring errors. I even quite liked the plot, what little of it was shown. This isn't a review. I hate writing them and put more effort in when I do. It's just a quick post to point people in the right direction and thank xxxx for posting here. Hopefully we'll see some more work soon.
“So you see your honor, in relation to our work there was clearly a MUTUAL admiration.”  She turned to Knighslayer.  “Alright, I’m bored.  Kill everyone in the room.”
“Hwi!!” Exclaimed the Doctor. “You promised.”
“Alright, Govnah!” she cried with an inhalation of exasperation.  “Knightslayer,  take only a limb. And start with the bloomin’ CATS.”

[Dragoon Knight]

A book closed.
"I'd like to take a moment to examine what our intrepid adventurers have accomplished so far," crooned the old man in the dressing gown, sitting in a high-backed chair, in front of a log fire.  It appeared to be quiet Autumn evening.
The man smiled demurely, taking off his glasses and cleaning them with an initialled handkerchief.
"Twelve," he stated calmly, before throwing his glasses into the fire, where they exploded with green flames, instantly engulfing the entire room.
"MY FLESH IS AS LAVA," he screamed, running around the room, flames dancing merrily about his person.

"Except no," said another, almost identical man, closing another book, which seemed to contain a full description of what had just happened.
"...aaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-!" came a cry from above, which was cut off abruptly as the QE2 landed, bow first, on top of the seated man.

A third book closed.  "This is-" began another old man, before being eaten by his chair.

A fourth book snapped shut.  "W-"
"DEAR GOD that's enough!" Dragoon Knight shouted, using a run of the mill vacuum cleaner to suck up the entire scene, before unfolding London from his shirt pocket.  He then produced, directed and wrote a pill, which was engraved with the words "Other Characters: Just Add Water!!".  Placing the pill on the ground, Dragoon Knight redirected the River Thames and was instantly washed downstream.
"Ovaltine," said Dante calmly, as he strolled across the river bottom.
"Not air, then?" said Death.
"I said Ovaltine, and I meant it, sir," Dante replied indignantly, attaching a lobster to Death's eye socket.
"Oh my," Death summarised, before.
"Before what?" asked Paul, causing the entire party to reappear in the top room of The Tower.

"We appear to be back, sir," Dirk intoned, unfortunately matching the resonant frequency of Yves, causing him to wobble apart most disturbingly.
"So... have we solved the mystery?" Paul asked, without moving his mouth.
"Well we know that the NWRGMW are responsible," Dragoon Knight explained, also without moving Paul's mouth, "but I think there is a more dastardly plan afoot.  Or ahand."
"Doctor Who!  Items of Food!  Smirking!  Novels by G.R.R. Martin!  Warlo-" screamed something, before being devoured by the puddle of Yves.
"I believe that Candlejack may be responsible," said Dante, "for is it not tr-

[Dante]

-ue that Her lips were red, her looks were free,
Her locks were yellow as gold:
Her skin was as white as leprosy,
The Night-mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she,
Who thicks man's blood with cold."
"...What?" Candlejack's masked face twisted into a frown. Dante sighed.
"Weren't you listening?
The naked hulk alongside came,
And the twain were casting dice;
`The game is done! I've won! I've won!'
Quoth she, and whistles thrice.
No twilight within the courts of the Sun.
The Sun's rim dips; the stars rush out:
At one stride comes the dark;
With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea,
Off shot the spectre-bark.

At the rising of the Moon,
We listened and looked sideways up!
Fear at my heart, as at a cup,
My life-blood seemed to sip!
The stars were dim, and thick the night,
The steerman's face by his lamp gleamed white ;
From the sails the dew did drip--
Till clomb above the eastern bar
The hornéd Moon, with one bright star
Within the nether tip.
One after another,
One after one, by the star-dogged Moon,
Too quick for groan or sigh,
Each turned his face with a ghastly pang,
And cursed me with his eye." Dante stopped as Candlejack swung lifelessly to and fro. "Well that's not very appreciative of great poetry."
"What the hell was it about?" The masked figure scowled, which is impressive in a mask.
"Balloons." Dante nodded, twisting himself into the shape of a jellyfish.
"That kind of poetry is easy to write when one is doped up on laudanum, I should suppose." Yves noted. "I should suppose, but I won't."
"Samuel Taylor Coleridge." Dirk agreed.
"So where are we, Candlejack?" Dante asked personably.

Meanwhile, back in the tower,

"Yes Candlejack, where is he?" Dragoon asked the air. There was the sound of someone ripping unhappily in two.
"Looks like he can't be in two places at once." Dante sighed in pity.
"I'll two places your once." Dragoon snorted.
"I was born seventy five years ago." Said a nearby explosion. "For some of that time I was a warthog. The rest of it was spent serving Tamriel as its captain."
"An explosion doesn't usually display the best parenting skills." Dante noted, gazing intently into a spoon.
"I'd be insulted by that if it wasn't true." Answered the spoon.
"Oh, that's new." Dante commented.
"I'm a new soul living in this strange world hoping I could learn a bit 'bout how to give and take." The spoon answered.
"Purely psychosomatic." Dragoon dismissed the spoon with a wave. Unfortunately he waved too hard.
"Pardon me." Said the tsunami, washing over London and destroying everything in its path except for anything with a T in it.
"You are pardoned." Saint Patrick agreed. A snake around his shoulders began to play the kazoo in a most accomplished fashion, to the amusement of all. There was dancing, followed by pentagons.
"OOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAA." When I count three.
"That made no sense." Paul turned inside out.
I know a tortoise that can do that "Said Dragoon, looking uncomfortably at the grammar checking program."
"Bongos." Bongobongobongobongobongo.
Pentagons gave way to heptagons, and the dancing continued.
"What are we celebrating?" Dante asked curiously turning into a fish.
"Freud." Dragoon answered.
"Jung." Paul contended.
"I agree with the blue one." Freud added.
"OOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAA."
"Who said that?" Paul looked around in confusion, but there was nobody there. It was then that he realised he was all alone. And a giraffe.
"What's with all the animal transformations?" Asked a passing werewolf.
"Buggered if I know." Muttered Dante hopefully.
"PEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEGEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE?!" Dragoon screamed.
"That boy needs therapy." Freud pursed his lips. And then for good measure he pursed everyone else's.
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Freud's mother entered the room in her electric wheelchair.
"BUNS!" She screamed, and injected the cast of Neighbours with opium.
"Honestly, she's always doing this." Sighed Freud. "Now mater-"
"You sit your eyebrows down!" Freud's mother shot back with a blunderbuss.
"The camptown ladies never sang all the dodah day, no no no." Freud uttered morosely.
"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA."
"...Yes."